Chapter 2039 - 843: The Perpetrator Is Panicking

February 9, 1998, 8 PM, Quito, Carondelet Palace.

The Presidential Palace has been surrounded for six hours.

The square outside is filled with people—citizens holding the national flag, soldiers carrying guns, members of the "Patriotic Front" in civilian clothes, and reporters carrying cameras. The shafts of the searchlights sweep through the crowd, making faces flicker bright and dark like a group of ghosts dancing in torchlight.

Alarcón stands on the balcony on the second floor, with seven cameras and over a dozen microphones set up in front of him.

He has changed his clothes. No longer wearing the drab gray suit from the day, he is now in military attire—the honorary uniform bestowed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Ecuadorian Army, adorned with two stars on the epaulets and his chest laden with medals, some earned, some borrowed.

The makeup artist has just powdered his face, covering the bags and wrinkles, but cannot conceal the trembling in his hands.

"Mr. President,"

the director from the television station said softly, "the live broadcast signal is connected. The entire Latin America can see it."

Alarcón takes a deep breath.

He recalls that night thirty years ago, the images of tanks rolling into Quito. Back then, he was a young parliamentarian, standing on the steps of the Parliament Building, watching those steel beasts drive by, thinking: I'll never stand against them in this lifetime.

Now he stands against them.

The director raises his hand, counting down: "Five, four, three, two, one—begin."

The red light turns on.

Alarcón begins speaking, his voice steadier than he anticipated:

"Fellow citizens of Ecuador. Brothers and sisters of Latin America. People of justice around the world."

He pauses, gazing directly into the camera.

"Today, our nation is under invasion."

"This morning at five o'clock, the Mexican Army brazenly crossed our northern border, invading a sovereign and independent country without any declaration of war, without any authorization from the United Nations."

"This is not a border conflict. This is not a military exercise. This is war."

His voice begins to waver.

"As of now, the Mexican invaders have penetrated 120 kilometers into our territory, occupying three border towns, killing or injuring more than five hundred of our soldiers and civilians."

"They're using tanks made in the United States, planes made in Europe, along with their own—it's with the weapons they bought with dirty money from the drug trade!"

Alarcón's hands grip the balcony railing tightly.

"Fellow citizens, do you know why Mexico wants to fight us?"

"Because we are fighting drugs!"

His voice suddenly rises.

"Because the police in Guayaquil raided the Mexican drug traffickers' hideouts! Because citizens in the San Blas District drove away the Mexican mafia! Because we refuse to let this nation become a money-laundering paradise for Mexican drug lords!"

A cheer erupts from the square.

"They're peddling drugs on our land!" Alarcón shouted, "They're selling drugs to our children! They're using their dirty money to corrupt our officials! When we resist, they send their army to attack us!"

The cheers grew louder.

"Fellow citizens, this is not an invasion war; this is the continuation of the war against drugs! Mexicans are not coming to liberate us; they're here to protect their drug business!"

He pauses, gasping for air.

"Now, by the power vested in me by the Ecuadorian Constitution, I hereby declare—"

The square falls silent.

"First, the nation is under a state of war! All citizens aged eighteen to forty-five, conscription! All enterprises, requisition of materials! All media, unified wartime news distribution!"

"Second, establish the Supreme National Defense Committee, chaired by me personally! All military, police, and militia organizations will be unified under the command of the Defense Committee!"

"Third—" his voice lowers, yet becomes more powerful, "an appeal to the world!"

He looks at the camera, articulating word by word:

"Victor Reyes of Mexico is not a politician, not a reformer, not the 'new order creator' your media praises."

"He is the drug lord's protection umbrella, the mafia's cash machine, the biggest threat to Latin American democracy!"

"The so-called 'miracles' he's conducting in Mexico City are piled up from drug money! The so-called 'cooperation' he's conducting in Central America is achieved with weapons and bribery! The 'investments' he's conducting in Europe and Africa, every penny carries the blood of drugs!"

There is dead silence in the square.

"Now, he extends his hand toward Ecuador. Next will be Peru. Then Colombia. And then, every one of you—the countries still dreaming you can remain uninvolved!" 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ

Alarcón takes a deep breath, roaring out the final sentence:

"I, Favian Alarcón, President of Ecuador, appeal to the world: Unite against Mexican hegemony! Against Victor Reyes! Against drug money ruling the world!"

"Justice will prevail! Ecuador will prevail!"

He raises his fist.

A tremendous cheer erupts from the square.

The live broadcast signal was cut off.

Alarcón stands on the balcony, looking at the waving flags and torches below, his heart pounding as if about to leap from his throat.

An adjutant runs over, speaking in a lowered voice: "Mr. President, the military... General Acuña requests to see you immediately."

Alarcón turns around.

"Where is he?"

"Downstairs."

"Bring him up."

Acuña enters with a strange expression on his face—not excitement, not anger, but... confusion.

"Mr. President, your speech was excellent."