Chapter 2009 - 834: We’ve Been Infiltrated~_2

The Black Mamba said nothing.

"That person is called Agim Ceku, a high-level Commander of the Kosovo Liberation Army, responsible for logistics and procurement. The United States and Europe have been secretly sending them weapons, but don't dare to send them openly. The 'Black Sea Wolf' helps them smuggle, we're just an intermediary."

The Black Mamba stood up and walked to the window.

Outside was a barren plantation, cashew trees had withered, weeds were growing rampant.

"How much do the Mexicans know?"

"They don't know. But they captured that Russian, the account book is in their hands. However much they want to know, they can know."

The Black Mamba remained silent for a long time.

"Contact the 'Engineer'."

Hendrick hesitated for a moment.

"Boss, contacting them now—"

"Contact them," the Black Mamba interrupted, "tell them I need a safe place, change of identity, a fresh start. Whatever they want, I can give."

December 18, 1997, Mexico City.

Victor looked at the interrogation records that had just been delivered.

The Russian was named Ivanov, forty-two years old, a former communications officer in the Soviet Signal Flag Corp. After the dissolution of the Soviet Union, he mingled in the black market for a few years, then was recruited by the 'Black Sea Wolf', responsible for bookkeeping and communications.

The information he confessed had been compiled by Gals into a three-hundred-page report.

Victor turned to the most critical page.

It was a hand-drawn relationship map, marking the main clients of the 'Black Sea Wolf' for the past three years. It included anti-government armed forces from five African countries, each marked with contacts, the number of transactions, total weapons. Agim Ceku of the Kosovo Liberation Army was marked as "key client, monthly transactions." Another column marked an "American contact," but there was no name, only a code: "T."

Victor's finger paused on that code.

"T."

"Can it be traced?"

Bramo stood beside him, shaking his head.

"This 'T' only appears three times in all records. Each time through an encrypted email, which was deleted after three weeks. The IP address couldn't be traced, as multi-hop servers were used, the final destination possibly being Washington."

Victor showed no expression.

"Keep investigating."

He closed the report.

"Also, tell Gals that the Russian is still useful. Don't alert Kosovo for now."

Bramo nodded.

"What about the 'Black Mamba'?"

Victor walked to the window.

"He'll be back. Thirty tons of goods not sold off, he won't let go. He's waiting for a chance, and so are we."

December 19, 1997, Edinburgh.

McTavish and Sarah Kent met for the second time.

Still in the chamber at the side wing of Holyrood Palace, but this time with no whiskey, only two cups of hot tea. Edinburgh's winter was bone-chilling, and even the stone walls exuded a cold aura.

"The five hundred kilograms in Liverpool," Sarah spoke first, "the Police Chief said he cracked the case."

"He knows it wasn't him."

"But he's taking the credit. His approval ratings have risen by five points, and those members of City Council who initially opposed us are now taking the initiative to invite me for coffee."

McTavish looked at her.

"That's good for you."

"Also troublesome." Sarah sipped her tea, "People who get too much attention tend to die quickly."

McTavish was silent for a few seconds.

"Glasgow also found the same goods. Our people are pursuing them but can't catch up. They move too quickly, changing locations and people each time."

Sarah waited for the rest.

"The Mexicans gave us a tracking system, satellite-based, that can clearly see every ship at sea. But to use it, we need authorization from London. London won't give it."

"What do you want?"

"Your dock area. The Liverpool docks are our closest point to the sea. If your people spot a suspicious ship at the docks, tell me. I'll inform the Mexicans. The Mexican satellite will monitor that ship, tracking it from when it leaves Africa until it reaches shore."

Sarah looked at him.

"You mentioned this last time."

"This time it's a formal request."

Sarah was silent for a few seconds.

"I need to discuss it with Allen."

McTavish nodded.

"Tell me after your discussion."

December 20, 1997, London, 10 Downing Street.

The new Prime Minister had been in office for forty-three days.

His name was David Ashton, fifty-five years old, former Chancellor of the Exchequer, considered a "moderate" within the party.

Moderate means not speaking harshly, not handling major affairs, not seeking trouble.

But trouble won't avoid him just because he's moderate.

"The five hundred kilogram affair in Liverpool, the media is still pursuing it."

The Cabinet Secretary stood in front of the desk, holding a newspaper.

The front page headline read: "Five Hundred Kilograms of Drugs Land in Liverpool, Why Were the Police Unaware in Advance?"

Ashton didn't look at the newspaper. He'd already read it three times.

"What did MI6 say?"

The Cabinet Secretary turned to the next page.

"They found out the registered information of that ship, it's a Panamanian company. The shareholders of that company are a shell company in Luxembourg. The legal advisor of that company in Luxembourg—it's a law firm in Washington, specializing in outsourcing contracts for the CIA."

Ashton's finger paused on the desk.

"Americans transporting drugs within the United Kingdom?"

"There is no direct evidence. But considering the background of that law firm, along with what we've seen across Europe in recent months—Italy, France, Spain, Portugal—there's unrest with drugs everywhere, all involving 'Black Pearl'—these are unlikely to be coincidences."

Ashton was silent for a long time.

"What do we do?"

The Cabinet Secretary didn't speak.

He knew the answer but didn't want to say it.

Ashton said it for him: "Nothing we can do."