Chapter 514: The Alarm in the Telegraph Room

Asquies took a deep breath.

"No," he said, "I'm just thinking how much time this will take."

"Public opinion takes a month to ferment," Baruk estimated, "to let reports of Deguo atrocities spread nationwide, to raise public sentiment from sympathy to anger. Then, in early February, leak that Mexican telegram. By then, the president will have enough popular support to demand Congress take action."

"Early February…" Asquies calculated the timeline. It's mid‑November now, so early February is two and a half months away. Can the Western Front hold that long?

"We'll accelerate material shipments to Yingguo," Morgan seemed to read Asquies's mind, "more food, more steel, more oil. Use merchant ships, fly the Meilika flag. If Deguo submarines dare to attack, that's even better—each strike supplies ammunition to our propaganda machine."

The dinner bell rang. The waiter opened the restaurant's double doors; the long table was already set with silver cutlery and crystal goblets. Tonight's main course was roasted Maine lobster and filet steak, paired with a 1882 Lafite—though the war has cut Faguo wineries' output, the club's underground cellar always has stock. (Is the 1882 Lafite the best?)

The group walked to the table. Asquies was placed to Morgan's right, the guest‑of‑honor's seat. Before sitting, Morgan patted his arm.

"Don't worry, Prime Minister," the old banker said with undeniable confidence, "Meilika will stand with you. Not because they love Yingguo, nor because they hate Deguo. But because it's business—and business must go on."

Asquies nodded and sat down. He looked at the massive silver candlestick at the table's center, the candlelight flickering in everyone's eyes. This table of people held the lifeblood of Meilika—and, to some extent, the world's—wealth. And they had just decided to use that wealth as a weight on one side of the scale.

The waiter began serving soup. A clear stewed turtle soup, steaming hot. Asquies lifted the ladle and suddenly thought of the kitchen at 10 Downing Street in London. Their chefs also make turtle soup, but using wild turtles from the Thames, smaller and more gamey. He hadn't had it in three months.

War has changed everything, even the taste of a bowl of soup.

At the same time, Berlin, Wilhelm Street 73.

On the second underground level of the Deguo Foreign Ministry building, there is a windowless room, walls of thick concrete, a steel door that requires two different keys to open. The room is filled with equipment: telegraph machines, cipher machines, a map table, and rows of file cabinets labeled with codes. This is the heart of the Ministry's Cipher and Analysis Division, responsible for monitoring and deciphering all foreign communications entering or leaving Deguo.

Major Ka Er Feng Shi Te Lai Xie Er sat before an Enigma cipher machine, his brows tightly knit. The thirty‑eight‑year‑old cipher expert is one of the department's top talents, fluent in seven languages, with innate sensitivity to numbers and patterns. But now he faces a dilemma. (Editor note: checked AI, Deguo's WWI cipher machine was this model, not sure, comrades who know, please enlighten.)

"Major, the London station telegram," a young Lieutenant handed over a sheet, "still using the Alpha-7 cipher, but this time it's very short—only one hundred twenty characters."

Shi Te Lai Xie Er took the telegram paper. It was a string of meaningless letter groups, five letters per group, twenty‑four groups total. He scanned it quickly; his brain already began automatic processing—Alpha-7 is a mid‑level British Foreign Office cipher, Deguo cracked it half a year ago, but the British don't know.

"Give me the original text book," he said.

The Lieutenant retrieved a thick leather notebook from the file cabinet. Shi Te Lai Xie Er opened it, found the page corresponding to Alpha-7, and began manual decoding. His fingers moved swiftly across the tables, muttering as he converted cipher letters into plaintext.

Five minutes later, he stopped, staring at the translated text.

"God…"

"Major?"

Shi Te Lai Xie Er gave no answer. He snatched the telegram and its translation, burst out of the cipher room, sprinting through the underground passage. His leather shoes struck the cement floor with rapid echoes, reverberating in the narrow corridor. He ran up a floor, reached the office door of the Deputy Secretary of State, and barged in without knocking.

Doctor A Se Qi Mo Er Man was reading a report on the Balkan situation when a suddenly intruding subordinate startled him. The fifty‑three‑year‑old diplomat is effectively the Ministry's number two, renowned for his calculating mind and lack of moral scruples.

"Shi Te Lai Xie Er? What's happening?"

"Sir, urgent intelligence," Shi Te Lai Xie Er slapped the translated telegram onto the desk, "from our Washington Military Attaché Office, just intercepted and deciphered."

Qi Mo Er Man put on his glasses and began reading. His expression shifted from confusion to shock, then hardened into cold anger.

The telegram was brief:

"Asquies today secretly arrived in America, meeting with Wilson for three hours. The Ying side presented massive economic data, emphasizing America's risk in the Allied debt. After the meeting, British ambassador Spring-Lais met with Morgan, Xi Fu, Baruk and other financial magnates. Assessment: Ying is launching systematic lobbying, aiming for America to abandon neutrality. Recommend immediate countermeasures."

The office was eerily quiet. The fireplace fire burned, yet the air felt as cold as ice.

"Asquies went himself…" Qi Mo Er Man muttered, "They really are desperate."

"Sir, if the Meilika people are persuaded…" Shi Te Lai Xie Er trailed off, but the meaning was clear.

Qi Mo Er Man stood, walked to the world map on the wall. His finger traced the North Atlantic, stopping at Washington.

"Meilika Entry into War, the Western Front is finished." His voice was light, yet each word weighed like lead, "Even with Lanfang's tanks, even with Sakura Nation's troops, we cannot match Meilika's limitless industrial capacity. They will block the entire Atlantic with warships, using supplies to revive Yingguo and Faguo."

He turned, his eyes flashing dangerous light under the lamp.

"We cannot let this happen."

"But how?" Shi Te Lai Xie Er asked, "We cannot stop Yingguo agents operating in Meilika; they have a century of contacts and influence there. Our embassy in America is almost fully monitored; any large‑scale counter‑lobbying would be instantly discovered and exploited by Yingguo intelligence."

Qi Mo Er Man thought silently. His fingers unconsciously tapped the desk, his habit when nervous. Minutes later, he lifted his head.

"Two directions," he said, "First, immediately inform the Emperor and the General Staff. We need an emergency plan; if Meilika truly enters the war, how we secure the best negotiation terms before the Western Front collapses."

"And the second?"