CHAPTER 1360: CHAPTER 656: THE ERA IS ABOUT TO CHANGE! (3)

Among them was Sean McCarthy, one of the liaison heads of the Irish Rebels in Belfast!

He was wrapped in an old jacket, his brows furrowed. Beside him were two companions, equally tense, scanning the dark corners vigilantly as they waited here for a mysterious "Middleman," who claimed to bring "an opportunity to change the status quo."

The rusted warehouse door emitted a sharp groan, edged open from the outside. A figure slipped inside, quickly shutting the door behind them, sealing out the howling wind and rain.

The newcomer wore a well-cut dark wool coat and a hat, brim pulled low to obscure the face. Steady steps led him straight to the faint light source where Sean and his companions stood.

"Mr. McCarthy?" The newcomer’s voice was low, steady, with a hint of an almost imperceptible accent, like a deliberately refined London dialect with subtle differences.

"That’s me." Sean stepped forward, scrutinizing the other warily. "Are you the ’Banker’?" He used the code name left by the other party in the encrypted message.

"You could call me that." The newcomer didn’t remove his hat, merely nodded slightly.

"Thank you for coming in such harsh weather. Time is pressing, let’s get straight to the point."

"You said you could help us?" Sean cut straight to the chase, his tone laced with suspicion and impatience. "We don’t need empty promises."

"Certainly not empty promises." The man calling himself the "Banker" chuckled softly. "We have been following your cause for a long time, Mr. McCarthy. We understand your demands and are well aware of your plight, especially recently; the oppression from London has become more severe, hasn’t it? Their funds are flowing to far-off tropical jungles instead of resolving issues in their own backyard."

These words hit precisely on Sean’s sore spot.

"Who are you?" A young man beside Sean couldn’t help but ask.

"Who we are isn’t important; what matters is what we can do." The "Banker’s" voice carried an undeniable authority. "We can provide the resources you urgently need, and they are sustainable resources."

He pulled a thin list from the inside pocket of his coat, a list that made Sean and his companions hold their breath:

"AR-15 Assault Rifles: 1200 pieces."

"Semtex Plastic Explosives: 500 kg (includes detonators and timing/remote devices).

"RPG-7 Rocket Launchers: 40 units (includes 300 PG-7VL armor-piercing warheads).

"SAM-7/Arrow-2 Portable Anti-Air Missiles: 4 sets (includes 12 missiles).

Encrypted Communication Devices: 10 sets (includes spare batteries and maintenance kit).

Cash: 1,500,000 British Pounds!

At the bottom of the list, a clearly marked anonymous warehouse address in Austria and a retrieval password were listed, with the delivery method noted as "third-party logistics, anonymous confirmation upon delivery."

"This is just the first batch."

"As long as your actions prove effective, subsequent support will be continuous. Funding, more advanced weapons, and even key intelligence can be arranged."

Sean’s heart pounded wildly. The items on this list, particularly the anti-air missiles and high explosives, were things they dreamed of yet were hard to attain. With these, they could plan more effective and shocking actions, truly shaking the roots of British control in Northern Ireland. The enormous temptation was like a Siren’s song, nearly suffocating him.

"What’s the price?" Sean forced himself to calm down, his voice hoarse.

"What do you want? To work for you? To attack a target we don’t care about?"

The "Banker" shook his head, the shadow under the brim seeming even deeper. "We don’t need you to do anything directly for us. Your actions themselves are valuable to us, undermining United Kingdom’s governance at home and in Northern Ireland, draining their financial and military resources, creating sufficient social and political turmoil... that is the ’result’ we need. Your struggle is the best reward for us."

"You’re exploiting us," Sean’s companion said quietly.

"Mutual benefit,"

The "Banker" corrected, his tone still calm. "History is written by the victors. At the moment you succeed, what we’ve provided won’t be exploitation but crucial aid in your hour of need. Besides..."

He paused, with a hint of amusement, "Do you have other choices? Decline the gift and continue to struggle in the mud, watching your cause wither due to a lack of resources? Or seize the opportunity and deliver a heavy blow to that arrogant Empire?"

The warehouse fell into dead silence, only the sound of rain on the roof and the heavy breathing of a few remained.

Finally, Sean’s gaze shifted from struggle to a resolution of taking a desperate chance.

"A wise decision, Mr. McCarthy."

The "Banker" smiled,

"The goods will arrive at the designated location within 72 hours. The communication equipment contains a one-way contact channel for receiving subsequent instructions and resource deployment information. Remember, efficiency and impact are the only standards by which we measure support intensity. Let London feel the real pain."

He nodded slightly, spoke no more, turning to merge into the shadows, silently heading towards the warehouse door.

"Whose man is he?" a companion murmured, his voice tinged with fear.

Sean looked at the door that had closed again; he took a deep, damp breath, exhaling slowly. "I don’t know, but he’s right: we have no choice, and those who can provide these things..."

He paused, a complex glimmer in his eyes, "perhaps they are the most powerful allies we can find now. Get ready, brothers. The era is going to change."

And the "Banker" who walked out got into a car, slowly taking off his hat.

It was Reinhard Tristan Eugen!

The second in command of Hydra!

"The era is going to change!"

...