A nation's industrial development begins with junior engineers.

Chapter 1090 When I grow up, I can call you comrade.

"Do you know the divorce law in the U.S.? The property is split 50/50—half of my hard-earned savings of ten years, the house, and the car go to her. I also have to pay alimony and child support. The judge calculated it based on my peak income—20,000! That means I have to pay over 800 a month in child support!"

Uncle Jin silently did some calculations.

More than eight hundred dollars was two to three times the monthly salary of an average bald eagle in 1963.

"I could have gritted my teeth and held on, but what happened?" Evans let out a strange laugh. "The ringleader just gave the order, and the budget was cut! My subsidies are gone, my allowances have been reduced, and I'm actually taking almost 40% less. But the court doesn't care about that! They're waiting for me based on the figures in the judgment; if I'm short even a penny, they'll issue a summons. How the hell am I supposed to pay them?!"

When he got excited, he slammed his wine glass down on the table, splashing wine all over it.

"Finally, my savings ran out, I sold the house, and I was still drowning in debt. My wife... oh, my ex-wife... moved away with the kids, and I never saw them again. Those bastards at headquarters thought I was a nuisance, so with a transfer order, they kicked me to this godforsaken place."

Evans looked up, his eyes red like a rabbit's, staring at Uncle Kim: "King, I heard you're going to get your hands on that special fund? Great! That's a fucking brilliant idea!!"

What right do those Taiwanese bastards have to squander our money? They should be managed by someone who knows what they're doing! If you succeed, I'll sell my life for you, Evans!

Someone nearby jeered, "Old Evans, what life do you still have left to sell? You've already sold all your valuables!"

Evans ignored him, staring intently at Uncle Jin with the obsessive look of a drowning man seeing a piece of driftwood: "I'm not telling you this to play the victim. Do you want to know why I was transferred to this godforsaken place?"

Evans' voice suddenly rose, drowning out the surrounding commotion, and the safe house instantly quieted down.

Hmm, I don't want to...

Or rather, they didn't want to know in such a public setting.

Uncle Jin finally understood why this person had been transferred from headquarters; his emotional intelligence was just too low…

Before Jin Wumai could answer, Evans immediately took half a step forward, lowered his voice, and spoke with an barely concealed air of mystery, as if afraid of being overheard: "I have a tremendous secret!"

"Very large... so large that it could turn the entire Earth into dust with a single bang!"

Although he tried to lower his voice, his quiet colleagues still heard him.

The brief silence was instantly shattered by an even louder burst of laughter.

Someone slammed their fist on the table, laughing so hard they could barely breathe: "Evans! You're drunk and bragging again! Last time you said you had the coordinates of the Alliance's missile base in Cuba, and what happened? Which stripper drew you that map?"

Others, holding up their glasses, egged them on, their tone full of mockery: "What big secret? Your ex-wife has sued you again, demanding a higher alimony payment? That's a big secret, big enough to send you sleeping on the streets!"

"I think he was sent here by headquarters and drank himself crazy! The earth's been blown to smithereens, and you can't even get out of Cambodia's borders, what kind of earth-shattering secret could you possibly uncover?"

"Did you secretly see some bigwig's mistress at headquarters? That secret could really cost you your job, hahaha!"

Cheers, jeers, and jokes filled the air, creating a cheerful atmosphere inside the safe house.

Evans' face flushed red, veins bulging on his forehead, as he argued, "How can intelligence be considered bragging?... Internal review... strategic neglect... what do you know!"

Then came a string of incomprehensible phrases, such as "former Marine with a complicated background" and "ghost funding channels," which made everyone burst into laughter, filling the store with a joyful atmosphere.

But Uncle Kim didn't laugh. Evans's statement, "big enough to turn the earth to dust," was obviously a drunkard's exaggeration, but "why he was transferred here" and "he has the secret" really sounded an alarm for Uncle Kim.

A former headquarters agent, "exiled" to Phnom Penh due to divorce and budget issues, may have genuinely made a mistake, but it could also be...

Did you find out something you shouldn't have known?

What is a secret agent?

Exceptionally good at fighting?

Well, that's the image in the lobster man's mind.

A true secret agent can be understood as someone who is exceptionally imaginative and persuasive, and most importantly, someone who must always keep their true purpose hidden beneath the surface...

While everyone was jeering, Uncle Jin was already quickly analyzing the situation in his mind:

What great things can these CIA agents in Asia do? These guys, whose budgets are being slashed so much, who deal with thugs and informants all day, and whose best skill is scrambling for scraps of intelligence from brothels and casinos, what kind of secrets could they possibly uncover that could "turn the earth to dust"?

But if...

If something really serious happens—

They must be coming for us.

With Operation Xiangjiang having just failed, the Taiwanese authorities, still harboring ulterior motives, have launched several new plans, with headquarters constantly urging the Asian region to cooperate in their execution.

Could it be that these people are planning some extreme action against our central leadership? Or perhaps they even intend to use unconventional weapons?

No.

Evans must be made to tell the whole story of the "secret" he's talking about.

He cannot let go of any risk to his motherland.

After the thought swirled in his mind, Jin Wumai's gentle smile returned. He raised his hand and gestured for the people around him to quiet down.

"Hey, everyone, don't be like that. Every single person in our Asian Intelligence Center is capable. Every single one of them is a hidden talent."

Uncle Jin raised his whiskey glass and waved it at everyone present:

"Everyone knows I'm Asian. There's an old saying in Asia—'Follow me and I'll have meat to eat!'"

The laughter gradually subsided, and everyone's eyes turned to them.

Uncle Jin swirled his glass, his gaze sweeping across the crowd before finally settling on Evans: "Don't worry, now that I, Jin, am in charge of this intelligence center, I'll naturally back you up! As long as we intercept that special funding—"

He paused, then held up both hands, making a "ten" gesture:

"Everyone gets at least $100,000!"

Upon hearing this, the entire banquet hall fell silent instantly. Everyone's eyes lit up, and they stared intently at the wine glass in Jin Wumai's hand, their breathing becoming heavy.

One hundred thousand dollars!

In 1963, this was an astronomical sum, enough to instantly lift the CIA agents, whose budgets had been so drastically cut that they were barely able to afford food, out of all their financial troubles.

That's ten to twenty times their current annual salary!

It's an astronomical number that could make them immediately climb out of the mire, get divorced couples to remarry, and make runaway informants roll back on their own!

"Of course—" Uncle Jin chuckled and then gestured with his hand, "This refers to our own people. As for those thugs, informants, casino spies, and brothel madams you've developed, they don't count!"

The laughter erupted again, but this time, it was devoid of the previous mockery; it was filled with genuine excitement and flattery.

"God bless you, Chief Chin!"

"Chin, you're a goddamn lifesaver!"

"Stick with the chief, we're all gonna be fucking rich! "

“Just give the word, we'll follow you anywhere, no questions asked! ”

Uncle Kim responded with a smile, but his eyes never left Evans.

After everyone dispersed and resumed their drinking session, he leisurely strolled over to Evans, sat down, and personally refilled his glass.

“Hey Evans, come on, let’s have a drink.” He raised his glass in a gesture of respect. “You were talking about that… ‘big secret’ earlier? Anyway, we’re all on the same side, and we’re just killing time, so why not tell us? It’ll help pass the time.”

Evans gave him a wary look and said in a muffled voice, "You don't believe me either."

"Believe it or not, it's not illegal to listen," Uncle Jin laughed sincerely. "Besides, what new things can happen in this place all year round? Just consider it a way to pass the time. Maybe..."

I mean, in case... in case your secret is actually interesting, and the special funding comes through in the future, I'll give you an extra 10%.

Evans' eyes lit up.

Add 10%? That's... 110,000?

He swallowed hard, took a big gulp of liquor to bolster his courage, looked around to make sure the group was fighting over the last bottle of undiluted whiskey, then leaned close to Uncle Jin's ear and spoke haltingly in a voice only the two of them could hear:

“I… before I was transferred here, I was actually… at the Miami branch.”

Uncle Jin raised an eyebrow slightly.

Miami?

The stronghold of cigar lovers and a gathering place for anti-Castro exiles.

What's happening on Bald Eagle's home turf?

It's not about my beloved motherland?

That's alright then, just take it as a joke.

However, you've lost your extra share; you might as well use it to buy more milk powder to take back to your hometown.

Thinking of the children in his hometown with milk foam on their lips, Uncle Jin squinted his eyes happily.

"Babies, grow up quickly..."

"When I grow up, I can call you comrades!"