Chapter 1364: Chapter 658: Whistle War?!

London, 10 Downing Street, the Prime Minister’s office.

Sir Johnson almost dragged his feet as he entered the Prime Minister’s office, looking somewhat exhausted.

Ever since returning from Bogota, he had been submerged in the disastrous news from Northern Ireland and the avalanche of parliamentary queries.

His eyes were sunken, his suit wrinkled, long gone was the composure he had at the negotiating table in Bogota.

The Prime Minister stood with his back to Johnson, gazing out at the gloomy London sky.

The atmosphere in the office was even more oppressive than the weather outside, with the desk piled high with the latest reports and casualty lists from the Northern Ireland attacks, each one weighing heavily.

No pleasantries, no formalities.

The Prime Minister, holding a cigarette, spoke the first sentence abruptly and plainly:

“Johnson, tell me the truth, do you think the Mexicans are behind this?”

This sentence was like a bullet, instantly piercing through Sir Johnson’s barely maintained composure.

He was stunned!

His mind went blank, remembering the face of Lundestat, with its mysterious calm, at the Bogota conference table…

He opened his mouth; the Prime Minister’s question was not whether, but whether he thought so, implying a strong direction!

Had the Prime Minister, or perhaps intelligence agencies, picked up on something?

Not all of MI6 sit around doing nothing.

“Prime Minister.”

Sir Johnson forced himself to remain calm, frowning, “We and Mexico are allies…”

“Allies?!” The Prime Minister suddenly turned around, crushing the cigarette in his hand, ash mixed with tobacco falling, his face twisted with extreme anger, “Those Mexicans qualify as allies?! A bunch of hyenas in civilized clothing! A gang of robbers taking advantage of misfortune!”

“Victor is just a bastard!”

Yeah… often being called a bastard.

He suddenly kicked over the brass trash bin beside him, metal clashing on the floor with a harsh clang, papers and cigarette butts scattered all over.

“When they were talking about the fund with you in Bogota, they probably already knew something would happen in Ireland! Isn’t it clear enough?”

“That so-called Amazon Fund is nothing but a trap! They lured us with billions of British Pounds, then turned around and stabbed us in the back at our weakest point!”

“Look now!”

He pointed at the report on British Army casualties, furious, “Over twenty lives! A military camp destroyed overnight! Our soldiers bleed on home soil, while they in South America calculate how to divide our share! What do the Mexicans say? They’re laughing at us! Waiting for us to become overwhelmed, so they can swallow all of South America!”

“And those weapons! SAM-7? RPGs? Without support from a country, how could the Irish Resistance Army get such things?”

The Prime Minister suddenly grabbed a crystal paperweight on the desk and smashed it against the wall, glass shards flying, “They pretend to trace the source of the weapons, while sending arms into Ireland, those bastards, acting like our brothers on the surface, yet sharpening their knives behind our backs, waiting for us to show a flaw!”

Despite the office’s soundproofing, the Prime Minister’s outburst sounded like thunder beyond the door, causing secretaries and guards in the hallway to hold their breath, afraid to even make a sound.

Sir Johnson’s face looked grim as he recalled Lundestat’s calm gaze when sending telegrams, the strange glimmer in the French representative’s eyes, those details he overlooked at the time now popping into his mind.

Could it be…

The French are also involved!!??

Shouldn’t Anglo-French relations be good, after all, we are all part of the European Union.

“They don’t just want us out of South America.”

The Prime Minister gasped for breath, his chest heaving violently, “But on a deeper level, they may want to take advantage of the situation to hollow us out, London market panic, British Pounds devalued, those undervalued assets… those Mexicans would definitely not miss such an opportunity!”

How could they be so clear?

Because that’s exactly how Britain did it back in the day, and how the United States did it later.

Capital is also accompanied by violence!

He suddenly grabbed Johnson’s collar, pulling him close, almost spitting in his face: “What you saw in Bogota was just the tip of the iceberg, they don’t want Amazon’s resources, they want the last vestiges of the British Empire! Our industrial foundation built over hundreds of years!”

“Prime Minister… I…”

Johnson’s voice trembled slightly.

The Prime Minister suddenly let go, leaving him stumbling back a few steps into the doorframe.

“Investigate for me! Deploy MI6 and Military Intelligence Five to unleash all available forces! Even if you have to turn the earth over, find evidence of Mexican intervention, and tell the Treasury Department to guard those core industries, even if with administrative orders, don’t let Mexican capital penetrate!”

He paused, “And Northern Ireland, issue my order, put the garrison on highest alert, root out those Resistance Army strongholds! Even if it means razing Belfast, make the Mexicans see, a dying camel is not something they can nibble at!”

He understood, if the Mexicans only wanted their assets, then the Northern Irish truly wanted their lives.

During the Great Famine, the British would rather throw away the grain than give it to the Irish…

The office was left with only heavy breathing, the Prime Minister’s figure in the dim light appeared particularly stooped, as if he had aged ten years in an instant.