Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1841 - 801: Happy New Year!!!_5
Capítulo 1841: Chapter 801: Happy New Year!!!_5
“Then we will take a dual approach.” The Prime Minister made up his mind, “Publicly, agree to negotiate, send representatives to make contact. Privately, prepare SAS (Special Air Service) for a rescue operation, and take action immediately once the location is locked down.”
“Who will go to negotiate?” the Minister of Internal Affairs asked.
Everyone looked at Graham.
“I’ll go.”
Graham said, “I have experience in handling hostage crises, and… I might need to directly talk to certain ‘external forces.'”
In the past few days, the Mexican Embassy in London conveyed a message through unofficial channels: “If the United Kingdom shows ‘flexibility’ on North American issues, Mexico is willing to help mediate the Scottish crisis.”
It was very clear.
They came forward!
But now, this might be the only way to both solve the hostage issue and get to the truth.
December 31st, the last day of 1996, Glasgow, an abandoned textile factory.
McTavish watched the news live on television.
BBC reporters were stationed in front of Edinburgh Castle, with protesting crowds and patrolling soldiers in the background: “…Today afternoon, negotiations between the Secretary for Scotland and representatives claiming to be the ‘True Scottish Freedom Army’ will be held at a neutral location. This is the first formal contact since the A9 Road ambush incident. Meanwhile, families of captured soldiers are gathering outside London Downing Street, demanding the government to ensure the safety of their relatives…”
The screen switched to London, a group of women holding photos and signs shouting in the rain.
“They are scared.” Robbie grinned, “We are on TV, the whole world is watching.”
“Don’t be too happy.” Callum McDonald stared at the map, “Negotiation is a façade, SAS is definitely looking for us. These captives are a hot potato, keeping them brings trouble, killing them would make us lose public support.”
“Then what to do?”
McTavish turned off the TV: “We never planned to kill them. Killing hostages is the stupidest thing, it would make us the enemy of the whole world. We aim for a deal.”
The satellite phone rang.
He picked it up.
“The negotiation location is confirmed.”
It was still that altered voice, “Glasgow University Main Building, today at three in the afternoon. They will send someone named Graham, the Deputy Director of MI6, high enough rank. Have you prepared your list of demands?”
“Prepared.”
McTavish said, “First, withdraw the British Army from key Scottish cities within three days. Second, release all detained ‘Highland Freedom Army’ members. Third, hold a referendum on Scottish independence.”
The other person chuckled: “Big appetite. But they will most likely agree to the first half of the third demand — ‘Discussing Scotland’s future status.’ But negotiating is about bargaining, it’s important to start with a high price.”
“Will you intervene in the negotiations?”
“No. But we will ensure safety nearby. Also, remind you: Graham is a sly Fox, he will probe to see who is supporting you. Don’t mention Mexico, don’t mention us. Just say it’s ‘a spontaneous resistance by the Scottish people,’ and the weapons were ‘bought from the black market.'”
“Will he believe it?”
“He won’t believe it, but he needs this excuse. London now needs to calm the situation quickly, for this they are willing to believe many absurd statements.”
The phone hung up.
McTavish looked out the window. Glasgow’s streets were desolate, military vehicles drove by from time to time, helicopters hovered low.
A year ago today, he was worried about the loan for the distillery, thinking about how to pay the workers’ year-end bonus.
Now, he was negotiating troop withdrawal with the British government.
Fate is truly ironic.
“Callum, you go to negotiate.”
He said, “You understand the law, know how to talk. Robbie, Ian, you lead the guards on the captives, ready to relocate at any time. If the negotiation falls apart, or SAS appears…”
Of course, the boss couldn’t go!
Afternoon, two-fifty, Glasgow University Main Building.
This Victorian Gothic architecture appeared solemn and cold under the winter sun. The campus had been cleared, surrounded by police cordons, and inside were plain-clothed agents.
Callum McDonald walked through the empty quadrangle, the sound of his boots on the stone slabs particularly clear.
In the conference hall, a few people were already sitting on both sides of the long table.
On the left was Graham, next to him sat the Secretary for Scotland and a person in military uniform, with a lieutenant general rank on his epaulet.
Two seats were empty on the right.
“Mr. Callum McDonald.” Graham stood up, polite but distant, “I am Malcolm Graham. This is Secretary for Scotland John Smith, this is Lieutenant General Allen McIntosh, Commander of the Army’s Scottish Command.”
Callum McDonald sat down, directly looked at Graham: “Save the pleasantries. Have you received our demands?”
“Received.”
Graham pushed a document forward, “Withdrawal takes time, especially with the tense situation now. Prisoner release requires legal procedures. Referendum… needs parliamentary authorization.”
“So no deal?”
“I am stating reality.” Graham crossed his hands, “You attacked the army, causing nine deaths, it’s an act of war. Legally, I could execute you on the spot, and then have the army clean out every suspicious hideout. But I haven’t because I want to avoid more bloodshed.”
“Afraid of public backlash?” Callum McDonald sneered, “Afraid the Scots will entirely side with us?”
Graham was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly asked: “Where did the weapons come from?”
“Bought.” Callum McDonald remained composed.
“From whom?”
“From those willing to sell.” Callum looked directly at him, “Just like you sell weapons to dictators around the world, what’s the difference?”
