Chapter 230: Scamming a Free Lunch

Colombo.

Seventh Avenue, in the Harbor District.

A local Ceylonese environmental organization called Green Agriculture had its headquarters here.

At that moment, the organization’s founder, Lady Basha, was on the phone with the head of the Rockefeller Foundation’s Asia Region.

"Lady Basha, we are deeply concerned about Ceylon’s recent situation. The Qingye Group is a globally renowned producer of genetically modified grains and a manufacturer of artificial foods..."

Lady Basha put on a compassionate expression. "Yes! My companions and I are also very worried, but our power is too weak..."

"Our foundation has an obligation to fund such a just cause. How much funding would Lady Basha need to allow Ceylon to embrace green again?" a low voice asked from the other end of the line.

"If we had a few hundred million in funds, or several hundred thousand tons of organic grain, I could guarantee..."

"AHEM, AHEM..." The person on the other end seemed taken aback by Lady Basha’s exorbitant demand. "Lady Basha, our foundation’s funds are limited. We can offer 3 million US dollars at most..."

Lady Basha immediately exclaimed, "Oh my god! What can we do with 3 million? We have so many members, and we have to do promotions on the street. Do you know how dangerous that is?"

"Lady Basha, you must understand, you’re not the only environmental organization in Ceylon."

But Lady Basha wasn’t intimidated. She continued to complain, "But you want us to make Ceylon return to green agriculture. The food crisis a while back put us under immense pressure. We need more money!"

"5 million. That’s the absolute maximum..."

"No, no... at least 30 million..."

"That’s too much. 5 million, or I’ll find someone else."

After more than twenty minutes of haggling, Basha successfully secured 8.2 million US dollars in special aid funding from the Rockefeller Foundation.

In less than a week, 17 different civil organizations within Ceylon received over 360 million US dollars in special aid from Europe and America.

This money was then quickly transferred to personal or corporate accounts in various offshore financial centers, eventually vanishing bit by bit into the global stock market.

The person in charge of the South Asian Black Ship was a man with a large, bald head.

At that moment, he was inside a luxury apartment building in Tianzhu Mumbai, looking at the report from the Ceylon branch. He laughed smugly.

November 11th.

Still in Colombo.

Lady Basha and her little companions were dressed in bizarre green outfits, putting on a performance art piece in a small public square.

Holding a small megaphone, she shouted at passersby, "Please support green agriculture! Boycott produce that uses pesticides and chemical fertilizers! For the sake of future generations..."

Then, her green-clad companions behind her forcefully handed out petition signature forms to pedestrians, along with a free bottle of vegetable juice for each person.

One passerby looked at the bottle of slimy green vegetable juice in his hand, curiously opened the cap, and took a small sip. His face immediately turned green. "PFFT..."

"Sir, how can you be so wasteful? This is made from organic vegetables! A bottle a day keeps you green and healthy..." Basha lectured him endlessly.

"This stuff? A bottle a day? I’d rather eat junk food." After speaking, the passerby threw the vegetable juice on the ground and quickly dragged his son away.

As he ran, he warned his bewildered son, "Stay away from these lunatics from now on."

Many passersby were so disgusted they fled. Upon seeing the members of these environmental organizations, they would immediately turn and walk away or pretend not to see them.

The various reporters from Europe and America, who had brought their cameras to record some "beautiful sights," were now looking on with complete confusion.

’That’s it?’

’Is this a joke?’

’Their financial backers sent them here to cover big news. Are these bizarre performance art pieces and disgusting vegetable juice and costumes supposed to be that big news?’

It wasn’t just the reporters.

Even John, Sunny, and Horton, who had disguised themselves to come watch the spectacle, were completely baffled.

From a window seat on the second floor of a cafe, John turned his head, dumbfounded, and asked, "What are these guys doing? Performance art?"

"..." Sunny was equally stunned.

’This isn’t in the script!’

’What happened to the promised rivers of blood, sky-high flames, and widespread devastation?’

’Damn it! Are these guys just putting on a show for us?’

After a whole day, the seemingly vigorous environmental campaign had, in reality, accomplished absolutely nothing.

「Tianzhu, Mumbai.」

The bald-headed Wade, who had just reported the good news to headquarters, received an awkward report from his subordinate. His expression soured, and he immediately started cursing:

"Did we spend one hundred and forty million just to have them put on a monkey show? Notify them immediately! If they don’t produce some results, I’ll make them regret ever being born! Fuck you!"

"Okay! Okay!" The subordinate was also extremely embarrassed.

Wade stopped the subordinate who was about to leave. "Also, inform the Tiger Gang to get moving immediately. No more delays, or I’ll cut off their aid."

"I’ll go inform them right away."

Watching his subordinate hurry away, Wade grew angrier the more he thought about it. "This is pissing me off! A bunch of trash! Useless!"

「Within Ceylon’s Northern Province.」

Inside a small town occupied by the Tiger Gang, the gang, now with only about seven hundred remaining members, was holding a secret meeting.

Suddenly, the satellite phone of their leader, Mu Ke, rang.

After he answered, a hoarse voice came from the other end.

"Leader Mu Ke, it’s time for you to act."

"Why? We aren’t ready yet. We need at least half a month to get all our members in position," Mu Ke said, not foolishly agreeing.

"If you want future aid, then act immediately. Bomb the surrounding Qingye Group properties," the hoarse voice said, calm yet laced with a threatening tone.

"I need some time to prepare. At least a week," Mu Ke continued to stall.

"Two days. I’ll give you two days."

With that, the person on the other end hung up.

"Pah! A bunch of bandits!" the deputy leader spat indignantly.

Mu Ke thought for a moment. He was reluctant to give up the continuous stream of future aid. After all, they were at the end of their rope. Without external funding, it would be difficult for them to rebuild.

"Then let’s make some preparations. We’ll just put on a show for now."

As Mu Ke was arranging his men, he didn’t notice that the deputy leader who had just spat was now watching his back with a profound, meaningful gaze.

Before Mu Ke could finish speaking, he saw phantoms flash before his eyes. Then, his vision went black, and he collapsed onto the wooden table.

A moment later, hundreds of figures clad in black armor appeared silently in the small town.

The vast majority of the Tiger Gang’s members were captured in one fell swoop, and the few who remained would soon be rooted out.

Even the secret contacts known only to the leader, Mu Ke, were no match for the Foreign Affairs Division. There was no intelligence they couldn’t extract.

Having fallen into the hands of the Foreign Affairs Division, Mu Ke and his men could only curse their bad luck.

With the Tiger Gang secretly dealt with and the civil environmental organizations still dawdling, more than a week passed with Ceylon remaining calm. The South Asian Black Ship finally realized that their pawns in Ceylon were unreliable.

The failure of this operation made the Black Ship Headquarters somewhat dissatisfied with him and doubtful of his abilities.

With his first plan having failed, Wade produced another.

He knew that Black Ship Headquarters couldn’t spare much power to support South Asia at the moment, so Wade chose to use another’s strength to strike.