Chapter 2037 - 842: Anti-Mexico_3

Ayala didn't speak again.

He turned and left.

February 8, 2 a.m., northern border of Ecuador.

The first unit arrived before dawn.

It was the advance team of the Mexican Army's 1st Armored Brigade, 500 men, 50 armored vehicles, departing from Chiapas, traveling day and night for twenty hours.

They stopped five kilometers from the border, turned off their engines, and kept the lights off.

Brigade Commander Hector Garcia stood in front of the command vehicle, looking at the dark mountains in the distance.

On the other side of the mountains is Ecuador.

"Report to the brigade commander, the reconnaissance company has been dispatched. They say there's no movement on the other side."

Garcia nodded.

"Keep monitoring."

He glanced at his watch.

Eighteen hours left.

February 8, 1998, 9 a.m., Quito, Carondelet Palace.

Ayala pushed open the door to the President's office.

"Mr. President, the Mexican Ambassador has arrived."

Alarcon stood up and adjusted his tie.

"Let him in."

The Mexican Ambassador was Fernando Solozano, a man in his early fifties, efficient, and not much of a talker. When he walked in, his face showed no expression.

"Mr. President."

Alarcon invited him to sit down.

"Ambassador Solozano, thank you for coming in person."

Solozano remained standing.

"Mr. President, I'm here for your response. Sixteen hours remain."

Alarcon was silent for a few seconds.

"We need more time. This matter is complicated, involving domestic politics..."

Solozano interrupted him.

"Mr. President, yesterday 37 people died in the San Blas District. Among them was a 67-year-old man, who lived in Quito for 30 years. Before he was killed, he spoke Spanish, not with a Spanish accent, but with an Ecuadorian local accent. He believed himself to be Ecuadorian. But his killers didn't care because he looked Mexican."

Alarcon did not speak.

Solozano continued.

"Thirty-seven bodies are still unclaimed in the morgue because their families are afraid to come forward. Another forty-two injured are lying in hospital corridors without enough doctors or medicine because the doctors and nurses are also Ecuadorian and fearful to approach them."

He paused.

"Mr. President, representing the Mexican Government, I ask you for the last time: what are you prepared to answer?"

Alarcon lowered his head.

"I need... to think it over."

Solozano gave him a look.

"You have fifteen hours."

He turned and left.

3 p.m., Guayaquil, Mayor's office.

Sinopiquiar sat behind his desk, listening to General Acuña's voice on the phone.

"The President is stalling. He doesn't want to touch this hot potato."

Sinopiquiar laughed.

"If he won't take it, we will."

Acuña was silent for a few seconds.

"What are you planning to do?"

Sinopiquiar stood and walked to the window.

Outside was the port of Guayaquil, where several cargo ships were unloading. On the docks were numerous containers from Mexican companies.

"Tomorrow morning, I will declare a state of emergency in Guayas Province. Then, I will authorize the local police to conduct forced 'identity checks' on all Mexicans. Anyone found problematic will be detained on the spot. Once detention is over, they'll be deported."

Acuña said nothing.

"How are things up north?"

Acuña was silent for a few seconds.

"The Northern Military Zone is on combat readiness. If Mexicans dare to cross the border, my troops will ensure they don't return."

Sinopiquiar laughed.

"Good. Then let them come."

February 9, 1998, 4 a.m.

Twenty-four hours arrived.

Alarcon's response still hadn't come.

Victor stood in the monitoring room at the top level of the "Feathered Serpent Temple," looking at the giant screen.

On the screen, the border position flickered with green light.

Behind the green light were the troops of three brigades.

"Bramo."

"Yes."

"Any news from Ecuador?"

"No. The Foreign Ministry says the phone is constantly busy, and no one is answering at the embassy."

Victor was silent for a few seconds.

"Casare."

Casare walked over.

"Yes."

"Notify Brigade Commander Garcia. The 1st Brigade, advance five kilometers forward. Approach the border line."

Casare paused.

"Boss, that's equivalent to—"

"Equivalent to telling them we're not waiting any longer."

February 9, 1998, 4:30 a.m., northern border of Ecuador.

The 1st Brigade's armored vehicles started up.

The sound of engines traveled far in the night, rumbling like muffled thunder.

Garcia stood inside the command vehicle, watching the approaching border line ahead.

Five kilometers.

Four kilometers.

Three kilometers.

Two kilometers.

One kilometer.

"Stop."

The convoy stopped.

Garcia picked up his binoculars, looking across.

The other side was pitch black, with no movement.

But it was fake.

He knew there were surely countless eyes watching from the other side.

"Report to the brigade commander, the reconnaissance company sent a message: troops are mobilizing on the other side. At least one brigade."

Garcia nodded.

"Understood."

He glanced at his watch.

4:45 a.m.

Fifteen minutes left.

February 9, 1998, 4:50 a.m., Quito.

Alarcon's call finally got through.

The call was answered by Bramo.

"Mr. Bramo, I am Favian Alarcon."

"Mr. President."

"I need... to speak directly with Mr. Victor."

Bramo was silent for a few seconds.

"Please hold on."

There was a rustling sound on the other end. After about a minute, another voice spoke.

"Mr. President."