103: Chapter 103 The Truth Revealed, High-Level Officials Hold Emergency Meeting

Biden leaned back in that high-backed leather chair, his face devoid of any unnecessary expression.

But in that silence, his mind was churning with thoughts far more private than anyone in the room could imagine.

Before, he had played dumb in this chair, not because he couldn't see clearly, but because he couldn't be bothered to change things.

The gears of the Lighthouse Country were rusted to such an extent that one person's steering wheel couldn't fix it; the wheels were sliding downhill, and no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn't change anything, so he just let it slide.

But now it was different; the Deep State was real, and the Aliens fleet was real.

These two things used to be piled together with intelligence reports about subterranean people, underwater people, and Jesus fixing tires, making it impossible to tell truth from fiction, but now they could be distinguished.

Since they were real variables, they could be calculated.

Two huge variables capable of rewriting the entire game had surfaced simultaneously, and if manipulated properly, they could win the Lighthouse Country an opportunity to be great again.

And more importantly, alien technology was not fake, and immortality was not fake either.

The liquid zero could enable Limb Regeneration, and the Deep State could transplant alien hearts beneath the Hoover Dam; these technologies were now within reach.

An old man who had been pressed into this chair by time and aging for too long knew, at the very moment he confirmed the existence of these things, better than anyone else what they meant.

That old man who played dumb ceased to exist from today on.

As these thoughts flashed through his mind, there was not a ripple on his face; he simply tightened his fingers slowly on the armrest, then raised his eyes to look at everyone present.

Secretary of Defense Graves was the first to break free from this intimidation.

He pulled the mutiny suppression report he had previously pushed aside back in front of him, cleared his throat, and his tone returned to the usual crisp and clear style of a military briefing:

"Mr. President, in Director of National Intelligence Alan Holt's briefing just now, there is a judgment that needs correction."

"He believes that the infighting between the Deep State's Longevity Faction and the Tech Faction has reached the point of mutual destruction."

"But judging from the combat performance that just ended, in the face of the invasion by two thousand Zeta Star flying saucers, the two fleets, without any signs of prior coordination, turned their fire almost simultaneously and completed the encirclement and annihilation of the external threat with high-density cooperation."

"This indicates that the differences within the Deep State have not reached an irreconcilable stage; at least in the face of a common external threat, a temporary alliance can be achieved."

Alan Holt expressionlessly moved the questioned intelligence folder in front of him half an inch to the side.

He did not defend himself, his tone remaining as calm as water:

"Intelligence can never have a one hundred percent accuracy rate; every colleague present knows this."

"We are simply providing intent judgments and risk assessments based on unknown contours."

"The two hundred thousand Starships, the two thousand flying saucers, and the fact that the Fourth Prince is Prince Dao Dun—none of these underlying facts are wrong."

"As for that group fighting each other when there is no foreign enemy and temporarily ceasing fire when there is one, this kind of variable is not something any intelligence system can accurately predict before the event occurs."

"Moreover, this is not what we should be most anxious about tonight."

He gently smoothed out the scattered reports on the table that hadn't been filed yet, his tone unchanged, but his speaking speed slowed by a beat.

Everyone in the conference room knew what he was going to say.

"Several of the Zeta Star flying saucers escaped."

"Those lines of blood-red characters on the sky were an ultimatum issued to the entire planet in front of nearly two hundred thousand Space Fleet."

"A million-strong alien army."

"If you don't hand over the Fourth Prince Prince Dao Dun, we will destroy the Earth."

"Given the absolute difference in their technological levels, this is not a bluff."

"So the real problem that needs to be solved tonight is: in the face of the million-strong Zeta Star army that will arrive in a few days, what do we have to negotiate with them?"

Mark Milley laid his rough palms flat on the table, as if spreading out a deck of old playing cards that had already been played but had all the rules changed, his voice deep and precise, without any preamble:

"The key to the problem is simple: the Zeta Star has set a condition; what they want is Prince Dao Dun."

"Prince Dao Dun is in their hands... in the hands of the Deep State..."

He pointed his thumb next to the record of the Deep State capturing Aliens on Alan Holt's report on the table,

"Only by finding the Deep State can we find Prince Dao Dun."

"Only by finding Prince Dao Dun will there be a chance to negotiate with the Zeta Star."

"Without Prince Dao Dun, there are no options on the first page of any dialogue when both sides sit down."

Victoria Monroe had remained quiet when Mark Milley mentioned the four words "Deep State,"

but once Mark Milley finished the last word, she picked up the conversation with a precise tone:

"To find Prince Dao Dun, we must first find the people of the Deep State."

"They are not an abstract concept now, nor are they a conspiracy theory label."

"They have the Federal Urban Pipeline Maintenance Department, Men in Black, blue gloves and black gloves, and an independent research system that has continued since 1947."

"We already know of their existence, but we don't have any traceable channels of communication yet."

After the four words "Deep State" rolled across the carpet, the situation room suddenly fell into a very brief silence.

It was deathly silent; you could hear a pin drop.

All the high-ranking officials present realized at the same time that this was not a routine national security matter that could be handed over to some cabinet department to handle as usual.

You are going to investigate a group of people who have been able to quietly maintain human resources, supplies, water, electricity, and a secrecy system right under your nose for nearly a century,

and these people have lightning gloves, energy shields, gravity field weapons that can take down hundreds of armed personnel within one second, and a code of conduct that never leaves any survivors.

The last person who investigated the Hoover Dam deeply was sniped in the Los Angeles warehouse district,

his wife was hit by a car and killed, his son was shot in the back, and all the investigators associated with him either committed suicide or were wiped out in "accidents."

Everyone in this conference room knew clearly:

If you really want to investigate the Deep State, the first wave of people sent to investigate will likely not come back.

So they all looked at the same person at the same time.

It was the President,

and also the old man in the center of the curved long table who, within the last hour, had cut off all the video nodes of the Lighthouse Country.

Joseph Biden.

Biden gently rested his crossed fingers on the stack of intelligence files in front of him and was silent for a moment.

Then he spoke, his tone unhurried, every word deep and steady:

"This matter concerns the survival of all humanity; it cannot be decided by me alone in a hallway in the middle of the night."

"I need to clarify all known intelligence regarding the Deep State with the relevant staff first. After sorting out the threads, I will notify everyone present tomorrow to discuss the specific details of the next steps."

"Before that, no one is allowed to privately mobilize diplomatic channels or the US military's communication systems to conduct any unauthorized contact with the Zeta Star."