Chapter 2036 - 842: Anti-Mexico (Part 2)

His wife screamed and rushed out, trying to pull those people away, but was held by two people, stripped naked, and thrown onto the street.

The crowd formed a circle, holding their phones to record.

Screams, curses, laughter, all mixed together.

The second victim was a Mexican grocery store.

The shop owner was an old man, sixty-seven years old, and had lived in Quito for thirty years. When he was dragged out, he was too scared to move, forced to the ground, and had his face stepped on.

"Are you Mexican?" the leader asked.

The old man shook his head desperately.

"I... I'm Ecuadorian... I've lived in Quito for thirty years..."

The leader laughed.

"Thirty years? Then you should have been killed sooner. You should have left thirty years ago."

A stick struck the old man on the head.

Blood splattered.

The old man twitched a few times and then stopped moving.

The massacre lasted for four hours.

By two in the afternoon, San Blas District was unrecognizable.

At least thirty-seven Mexicans were beaten to death, more than a hundred were injured, countless shops were smashed or burned.

The police arrived at three o'clock.

When they arrived, the group had already dispersed.

The leading officer stood at the street corner, looking at the mess, and said into his radio:

"The scene is under control. Casualty numbers are being counted."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the radio.

"Understood."

February 7th, 4 PM, Mexico City, National Palace.

When the video reached Victor, it was 4:20 PM.

He watched it three times.

The first time in fast forward, for an overview. The second time at normal speed. The third time in slow motion.

The old man's face, as it was being stepped on the ground, his eyes were still open. After three stomps, his eyes closed, but his mouth was still open, as if he wanted to say something.

Victor turned off the video.

The room was very quiet.

Bramo stood nearby, Casare leaned against the door, and Bennett sat in the corner.

No one spoke.

Victor stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, the sky over Mexico City was very blue, and the sunlight was excellent. Traffic on Paseo de la Reforma moved slowly, orderly.

"Bramo."

"Yes."

"Any news from the Ecuadorian government?"

"Still trying to contact. The phone won't connect. The embassy said the Foreign Ministry people are all 'in a meeting.'"

Victor said nothing.

The silence lasted for thirty seconds.

"Bennett."

Bennett stood up.

"Yes."

"How many died in San Blas District?"

"Preliminary count, thirty-seven dead. Forty-two seriously injured. Nineteen missing."

"Where did the missing people go?"

Bennett shook his head.

"Don't know. Maybe arrested, maybe fled, maybe died elsewhere."

Victor turned around.

"That leader, found him?"

Bennett nodded.

"Found him. His name is Luis Barela, thirty-four years old, a core member of the Quito Patriotic Front. He was directing on-site that day, personally beat at least five people. We have photos and videos of him."

Victor looked at him.

"Is he still in Quito?"

"Yes. He even accepted an interview with a TV station yesterday, said he was 'defending the homeland.'"

Victor's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Defending the homeland."

He repeated the phrase.

Then he spoke, his voice calm:

"Inform the Department of Defense. Initiate Phase One of the 'Southern Border Operation Plan.'"

Bramo was stunned for a moment.

"That is..."

"Mobilize troops. Three brigades, twenty thousand men, gather at the Ecuadorian border."

The room was quiet for a few seconds.

Casare spoke first: "Boss, gathering twenty thousand men at the border is a war signal."

Victor looked at him.

"Ecuador killed our thirty-seven people. Gathering twenty thousand men is to let them know we do more than just issue notes."

He paused.

"Tell the Foreign Ministry, send the final ultimatum. In twenty-four hours, the Ecuadorian government must hand over all murderers, offer a public apology, compensate the victims' families, and guarantee such incidents won't happen again. Otherwise—"

He didn't finish his sentence.

Bramo waited.

Victor looked out the window.

"Otherwise, we'll catch them ourselves."

8 PM, Quito.

Alarcón sat in his office, looking at the ultimatum that had just arrived.

Twenty-four hours.

Hand over the murderers.

Public apology.

Compensation.

Guarantee.

Otherwise—

He put the ultimatum on the table.

Foreign Minister Ayala stood in front of him, his face pale.

"Mr. President, the military... they demand you refuse."

Alarcón raised his head.

"What did they say?"

"They said if you accept Mexico's terms, it's treason. They'll join with Parliament to impeach you. Then..."

"Then what?"

Ayala lowered his head.

"Then, they'll take action themselves."

Alarcón was silent for a long time.

He remembered thirty years ago, when he was a young member of Parliament, witnessing a military coup. Tanks rolled into the streets of Quito, the president fled abroad, Parliament was dissolved, generals sat in the Presidential Palace dividing power.

At that time, he thought such things would never happen again.

Now it was about to happen again.

"Where's General Acuña?"

"At the Northern Military Zone headquarters. He said if you need him, he can come anytime."

Alarcón smiled bitterly.

"When he comes, it won't be when we 'need him.'"

He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, Quito's night sky was dark, with only a few lights flickering in the distance.

"Reply to Mexico. Just say... we need more time."

Ayala was stunned for a moment.

"Mr. President, twenty-four hours—"

"I know." Alarcón interrupted him, "But we need time to calm the military, to calm the public, to let those murderers—hide."