Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 566 - 352: It’s not too much to carry an ashtray with me when I smoke, right?

A week after the London bombing.

The police had arrested nearly 100 suspected individuals, most of whom were merely spreading false terror messages.

Someone even "borrowed" the name of Hydra to promote an attack on Buckingham Palace online.

This had scared the Queen into fleeing back to her countryside castle overnight.

To prevent any incident involving the delegates attending the conference, the British arranged for them all to stay in an SAS special forces camp.

It was Jacqueline cradling her skull—her first time!

The food was strictly screened, and even going to the toilet required accompaniment.

Finally…

"I can't stand this anymore!" Prince Felipe of the Spanish Royal Family shouted as he angrily kicked down the TV in front of him, "What am I, a prisoner?"

An accompanying member hastily calmed him down and signaled him not to get agitated.

"What use is such a big country if it can't catch a terrorist organization, tell me, what bloody use is MI6, taxpayers are just feeding a bunch of rubbish!"

This frightened the bystanders into quickly covering his mouth.

"Your Highness, we are on foreign soil, don't speak such impolite words."

If Great Britain couldn't handle Hydra, how could it not handle you, the heir of a downtrodden, third-rate country?

Felipe pushed them away, sitting on the couch sullenly.

The Spaniards looked at each other and helplessly shook their heads.

Felipe still looked like a child.

Just when the atmosphere was a bit awkward, there was a knock on the door, and a suited staff member entered, pausing at the sight of the overturned coffee table then pretended he hadn't seen it, "Sir, Prince Michael is receiving you in the conference room."

Felipe disliked the term "receiving."

We are all from royal families, so what, do you British think you are nobler than us Spaniards? We are even relatives.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up, "Lead the way."

He followed the staff member to the conference room.

It was already full of people.

White, black, yellow – all kinds of races, all furrowing their brows, a mood of dissatisfaction accumulating.

Damn it…

Just freakin' have the meeting here in the conference room.

It would be better to go to a tiered classroom, at least there would be air conditioning.

When the bushy-beard British Prince Michael saw him, he came over with a smile and gently patted his shoulder, "Felipe, how have you been resting…"

Look at that!

What an impertinent question.

Felipe sarcastically replied, "Only been safe in the SAS camp."

Comfortable?

For a pampered prince like him, the accommodation here was nothing but trash!

For meat-eaters, accommodations at the camp were simply poor.

Look at the Northern General, wearing khaki workers' clothes, sporting a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, but according to his Japanese chef's later revelations, he privately had a "pleasure group," and the meaning of pleasure turned backward is entirely different.

Old man Felipe, the Old King, even had to seek prostitutes when traveling abroad.

Prince Michael's expression stiffened, appearing slightly awkward, losing interest in chatting privately, and had someone usher him to his seat.

Felipe glanced around, the Danish and Dutch Royal Families, their expressions looking slightly better, it would be embarrassing to sit with people he had never even heard of.

Being relatable is a public image, not life.

His mind still harbored so-called royal values.

Prince Michael looked at his watch, seeing it was about time, then clapped his hands and stood at the podium, "Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the recent series of issues, but please rest assured, the situation is within control!"

"We will definitely find the culprits and deliver justice to the victims!"

The audience clapped perfunctorily.

If mere talk was useful, then many people around the world would die; what matters is retaliatory, violent solutions!

But they didn't feel that at all.

If not for the inappropriateness of internal disputes, he would stand up and confront him now.

Prince Michael, noticing everyone's expressions, bowed his head, slightly embarrassed, the pressure almost overwhelming him. He forced a smile as he was about to speak.

Then a phone ring echoed; a man sitting opposite had his phone ring on the table, he looked apologetically at Prince Michael, who smiled understandingly.

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That man was a representative of an anti-government armed group active in South America, useful for Great Britain if they wanted to stab Victor in the back.

He picked up the phone, pressed the answer button, and then a bang!

The communication device in his hand exploded!!!

The shockwave shattered all the windows, and the man holding it was blown in half!

The severed arm fell to the ground, still showing the twitching blue veins!

The impact of the bomb was far from light; it almost engulfed everyone nearby, injured people lay on the ground, groaning.

Prince Michael stared, his face blank, how… how could this happen!

Phones can freaking explode?!

Soldiers outside, hearing the commotion, hurried in.

"Quick! Quick, save the wounded!" Prince Michael screamed sharply, his voice almost cracking.

An explosion in the SAS camp?!

Ding-a-ling~ Ding-a-ling~

As he screamed, the phones that had fallen to the ground all began to ring at that moment.

His face turned pale!

Just as he thought to run…

Bang!!!

A gust of gas burst from the conference room, even shaking the corridor lights to pieces.

"Help… me!"

A blood-covered figure crawled out from the room, trembling hands screaming loudly, he looked up at the soldiers running towards him, his head tilted, and he fainted.