The United States delegate

When the Soviet delegate left, the atmosphere shifted. Sato adjusted his tie, his movements tense. “The American delegate has just arrived,” he said softly after returning to the office.

Isabella turned as the doors opened again. Her breath caught for a fraction of a second, though she masked it well. The man who entered was tall and broad-shouldered, looking sharp in a military dress uniform. But it wasn’t his attire that commanded attention—it was his presence. He moved with a controlled, predatory confidence, his posture relaxed yet poised for action. On his head, a green beret rested at a slight angle, covering neatly cropped black hair.

Her pulse quickened. She had never seen pictures of Mr. Green, the shadowy figure who had orchestrated so much chaos in Montesoro, but the coincidence was too much. And though the man before her introduced himself simply as the U.S. envoy Jonathan Kane, her instincts screamed that it was him.

“Madam President,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, with an edge that felt like a challenge. He extended a hand, and she took it, her grip firm.

“Welcome to Montesoro,” she replied evenly. “I trust your journey was pleasant.”

“It was,” he said, smiling faintly as he sank into a chair without waiting for permission. His posture was casual, almost insolent, as though he owned the place. “Your country has always been... fascinating.”

She took a seat opposite him, careful to maintain her composure. “And what brings the United States to Montesoro today?”

He leaned back, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. “Stability, Madam President. Montesoro is at a crossroads, and we want to ensure it stays on the right path. We’re prepared to offer military support—advisors, equipment, funding—should you need assistance with your... insurgent problem.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Interesting. And what would the United States ask for in return?”

His smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Access. Exclusive access to your mineral deposits and mining priviledges for American companies. Montesoro’s resources could do wonders for both our economies.”

Isabella’s jaw tightened, though she kept her voice steady. “A generous offer, but I must question the recent appearance of American weapons in the hands of the guerillas. Surely, the United States isn’t arming communist insurgents against a lawful government?”

He laughed softly, the sound low and mocking. “The United States would never support communists, Madam President. That’s absurd.” His tone was smooth, but Isabella could sense he was not revealing the whole truth.

She stared at him, searching for any crack in his armor, but he seemed entirely at ease, as though he had nothing to hide—or nothing to fear.