Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 269 Deduct 1 to send a Desert Eagle

The banquet hall was softly lit, with brass chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling.

The floor-to-ceiling windows frame the outline of a forest, and the setting sun sinks behind the mountain ridge, leaving only its afterglow to paint the lawn a hazy blue-gray.

Morrison stood in the doorway, using the act of adjusting the hem of his suit jacket to conceal his nervousness.

“Go inside,” Braun nudged him from the side. “Trust me, there’s definitely plenty of alcohol this time.”

Morrison smiled at him.

Braun, seemingly oblivious to anything, strode confidently into the crowd.

Accompanied by gentle music, glasses clinked and conversations rose and fell in volume.

The reception staff, dressed in black uniforms, stood in several fixed positions, their movements upright and their eyes barely moving.

Morrison followed slowly inside, stood by the round table near the corridor, and scanned the entire room.

Instead of immediately looking for Braun, he spent thirty seconds reconfirming all the faces present.

There are a few familiar ones.

It appears repeatedly in the report.

He recognized Kuroda Toshiaki—who was talking in hushed tones with two German officers, looking relaxed, his glass of brandy barely touched.

The young man behind him was Kiyoshi Sawada, with a thin face and a straight back.

Morrison's heart skipped a beat, and he noted down his location.

Just then, Braun's voice came from behind.

"What are you doing standing there? Get me something to eat."

Morrison shrugged, walked to the buffet, and took the smoked meat and mustard from his friend.

Braun had just stuffed two slices of sausage into his mouth.

"It is said that the chefs here originally came from the governor's family, and later came to Berlin, oops, Germania."

He then pointed to the crowd on the west side: "See those guys in black suits? They're all tech guys."

"Aren't you interested in that Japanese stuff? We can have a good chat about it tonight."

Morrison nodded without saying a word.

His gaze returned to the young Japanese entourage member.

Not the most conspicuous, but always kept near the key figures.

Unfortunately, we still need an opportunity to act alone.

“Are you listening?” Braun nudged his arm.

Morrison snapped back to reality. "Sorry, I was thinking about something else."

He raised his glass, "To today."

"And it's also because you finally agreed to come out," Braun said with a smile.

Bubbles rose, the glass made a crisp sound, and were quickly drowned out by the orchestra.

The speech is over.

The lights were dimmed a bit.

Morrison deliberately arrived a little late, missing the formal speeches, toasts, and the interpreter's repetition of sentences.

The Japanese representatives standing by the fireplace formed a semicircle.

They occasionally lower their voices when they speak, but they don't deliberately avoid the people around them.

Morrison moved slowly, naturally guiding Braun closer to the other side.

Finally, I stopped by the pillar three meters away.

"You ask me what I think?" he heard one of them say. "I think we woke up too late."

"If such a cooperation mechanism had been proactively established in 1945, many problems could have been avoided."

"You mean the ** thing?"

Morrison narrowed his eyes.

Braun, however, remained completely oblivious to anything amiss and continued eating in silence.

"I'm referring to the opinions of those hypocrites."

"They can blow up an entire city with their planes during a war, and if we retaliate slightly, they can write a 'humanitarian disaster' narrative for thirty years."

"Our problem is that we care too much about what they think, the British and Americans."

"In their eyes, Asia is not worthy of sovereignty. Today it is **, tomorrow it will be us."

"Ultimately, they never understood why we were fighting. There's only one form of civilization, theirs." "But thankfully—" the man paused, "we still have friends willing to participate in building the new order."

"And their voices are becoming less and less important."

Morrison lowered his head and took another sip of his drink.

These words were familiar to him.

Washington, Atlanta, Kansas
Let Tokyo do what it wants.

After that, they were happy, we were happy, the whole world was happy.

Democratic and Republican parties marched in the streets carrying swastika flags.

The revival of the white world.

Far Eastern affairs are no longer at the core of the strategy.

So, the evacuation order came down.

There are less than thirty days left.

The young man named Kiyoshi Sawada still showed no intention of leaving the pillar.

Morrison thought for a moment, then finished the last bit of wine in his glass.

Braun put down his glass at almost the same time and raised an eyebrow at him: "Empty again?"

After saying that, without waiting for him to speak, she waved to the waiter who was not far away to come closer.

The blonde woman nodded in agreement and walked towards them carrying a silver tray.

Morrison stepped aside to make way, but then subtly took a few steps toward the group of Japanese.

This time, the young man clearly noticed the stranger's presence, paused, and then switched to German:

"We raised this packaging issue last time in Bregenz, do you remember?"

“Of course,” the other person replied, “I immediately gave an internal report after I got back and received feedback.”

Morrison calmly handed the empty glass to the woman.

She took the items and quickly replaced the two glasses with new ones on the silver tray.

Then, it was time to leave.

Morrison seized the opportunity, and the moment she took a step, he pressed his toes against the seam of the carpet edge, lifted it up by half an inch with a slight force.

The woman reacted too late, stumbled half a step, and the entire tray slipped from her hands.

"Ah—I'm sorry!"

The young man was also caught off guard, and his shoulders and chest were immediately soaked.

The waitress's expression changed drastically. She apologized repeatedly and hurriedly handed over a napkin.

Braun turned around when he heard the noise and watched with great interest.

"what happened?"

"I need to take care of this."

Morrison noticed the young man's lips move slightly, as if he were silently muttering a few curses.

"The restrooms on the second floor are at the end of the stairs; turn left and you'll find the men's restrooms," the woman quickly explained.

“It’s not your fault, it was just a coincidence that we were in the same place.” Braun walked over and winked at her.

As soon as he finished speaking, he struck up a conversation with the Japanese representative as if they were old friends.

"As you just saw, we need to prepare more clothes for this child."

Seeing that they were starting to chat, Morrison patiently waited another half minute before interrupting.

“I need to go have a smoke,” he said.

Braun shrugged. "You really couldn't resist."

“I’d rather be like this than drunk,” Morrison said with a smile, his tone relaxed.

"Go on, go on, I'll save you a glass of brandy."

Braun waved his hand dismissively.

Soon, Morrison walked alone along the edge of the hall to the corridor.

He stopped after turning the corner and making sure no one was around.

In the blink of an eye, the enormous pistol appeared out of thin air inside the suit jacket.

(End of this chapter)