London, Victoria District, a six-story red building stands by the Thames River.

This is the office of the British Secret Intelligence Service, commonly known as Military Intelligence Six, the very agency from which the legendary agent James Bond from the 007 series originated.

The bald foreigner who appeared in the café two hours ago is now sitting in a spacious office, analyzing information on a laptop.

The United Kingdom, like America, places a high value on citizen privacy, resulting in their surveillance systems existing primarily in public spaces.

Even if you want to install a camera at your front door, you have to think it over carefully. If you accidentally capture footage of your next-door neighbor, you could potentially face a lawsuit.

This is one of the important reasons why the crime-solving rate over there is very low, so even with special permissions, the bald man couldn't obtain footage of the gunfight at Warehouse 98 that night.

However, this is not the final conclusion. He dares to accept this money because he has the corresponding confidence, after all, he can tap into the resource system of a national intelligence agency.

The bald man put down the coffee cup in his hand, got up, and went to the large office outside, signaling to an Indian young man.

The latter, seeing this, quickly took off his headphones and walked over.

After entering the office, the Indian young man closed the door, a strange smile on his face. He knew that every time his boss met him alone, it meant there was extra money to be made.

Sure enough, the bald man took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it over, lowering his voice: "A shooting incident occurred at Warehouse 98 in Canary Wharf the night before last. It was done by several Asians."

"Go check the database and filter out those Asians who appeared within a ten-kilometer radius that night. I need to know their identities."

The young man, familiar with the procedure, accepted the envelope without even looking at it and stuffed it into his pocket: "Understood!"

"Go ahead, I'm waiting," the bald man waved his hand, and the young man pushed the door to leave.

About ten minutes later, when the young man returned, he had a USB drive in his hand.

"I've found them. I compared the data of these people in the database. They are all from China and have no entry records, so they must have entered illegally."

As the young man sat down, he handed over the USB drive while beginning to report, "Among these people, five have joined the Arctic Fox Mercenary Company and have carried out several missions in the Middle East."

"China?" The bald man's brow furrowed as he took the USB drive.

"Yes." The young man nodded and continued, "These individuals are very skilled. They once defeated a group of more than two hundred rebels as a ten-person squad."

"These people should be from a special forces unit in China. But as you know, we have very little information about China, just some of the most basic."

The bald man opened the USB drive thoughtfully, scanning over each file.

"Additionally, the one named Ming Yuan among them has a very special background!" The young man added.

The bald man heard this and slid the touchpad. When he saw the description of Ming Yuan's identity, his pupils involuntarily contracted.

After a few seconds of silence, he tentatively asked, "Are you sure he's from the Fu Family?"

The young man replied firmly, "His identity is almost public."

The bald man's brow knitted tightly. Fu Wenbo and Fu Wentao from the Fu Family had a remarkable reputation throughout Europe, with incredible power and close relationships with various government officials.

The Fu Family's enterprises have gradually permeated many industries in Europe since the seventies, and their influence is no less than those of the major Western conglomerates.

As intelligence personnel who deal with all sorts of people daily, they are naturally aware of this.

Seeing his superior not saying anything for a long time, the young man asked again, "Do you still need to track their movements?"

The bald man did not answer directly but instead picked up the pack of cigarettes on the table: "You can go out first."

After sending the subordinate away, he lit a cigarette, pondered for a while, and then took out a mobile phone from his pocket, inserted a new SIM card, and dialed a number from memory.

"There were a total of six robbers at Warehouse 98, all from China. I can only tell you their identities. As for other information, I don't know either."

"..."

The bald man only told the other party the identities of Chen Wei and the others but didn't disclose anything about Ming Yuan, as he didn't want to get involved in this matter. However, since he took the money, he had to give them some information.

"Where is the stolen shipment now?" the middle-aged man on the other end of the line asked urgently.

The bald man paused, "Sorry, I didn't find that out."

From the looks of it, those people were extremely professional. They were only captured by cameras a few kilometers away in another district.

You know, London houses over a hundred thousand Asians, trying to track down those Asian robbers without photos is like finding a needle in a haystack.

Anyway, those donut-eating incompetents at the London Police Station surely can't handle it.

The only possibility is for organizations like theirs—those with a robust database and the most advanced facial comparison systems—to possibly manage.

If the Fu Family really is behind this, then impulsively providing intelligence to the other party would be very risky. If the Fu Family were to investigate in the future, he'd be in trouble too.

After all, using Military Intelligence Six's resources to make money isn't exactly top secret. Not only him, but many take advantage of intelligence gathering as a facade for their activities.

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