Chapter 2045 - 844: Crush Those Restless Idiots!

"Mr. Bennett... I... I can cooperate with you... I know many things... about Acuña, Alarcón, and... the Americans..."

Bennett looked at him.

"The Americans?"

Sinopiquiar nodded desperately.

"Yes! The Americans! The CIA! They've been supporting us all along! That Turner! Malcolm Turner! He sends us money every month to organize anti-Mexico protests, to incite violence against Mexicans, to stir chaos in Ecuador!"

Bennett was silent for a few seconds.

Then he laughed.

It wasn't a joyful laugh, but the kind of "it figures" laugh.

"Go on."

February 10, 1998, 4 PM, Mexico City, National Palace.

Bramo placed the interrogation records that had just arrived from Quito in front of Victor.

Victor read through them.

"Turner."

He pronounced the name.

"It's him again."

Bramo nodded.

"Sinopiquiar confessed that in the past year, the CIA channeled at least 30 million US Dollars through the 'Black Sea Wolf' to anti-Mexican organizations in Ecuador. Part of the money was used for organizing protests and violent activities, and another part to bribe military and political figures."

Victor put down the records.

"Does Alarcón know?"

Bramo shook his head.

"Sinopiquiar said Alarcón did not know. He and Acuña communicated through a single line, with funds going directly into their private accounts, the President being kept in the dark."

Victor was silent for a few seconds.

"And Acuña?"

"In custody. Not yet interrogated." ℴ

"Interrogate him. Show him Sinopiquiar's confession and let him know his ally has sold him out."

Bramo nodded.

"Also," Victor said, "compile the confession, encrypt it, and send it to our people. Let them release it to the American media at the appropriate time."

Bramo was taken aback.

"Release it to the American media?"

Victor looked at him.

"So the Americans themselves can see what their CIA has done in Latin America. Not for justice, but to sow chaos."

Bramo understood.

"Understood."

He turned to leave.

"Wait." Victor called out to him.

Bramo turned back.

"That three-year-old child," Victor said, "Diego Espinosa. Check if he has any other relatives. If he does, take good care of them. All the expenses will come from the Presidential special fund."

Bramo was silent for a few seconds.

"Understood."

February 10, 1998, 7 PM, Washington D.C., Langley.

Turner sat in his office, watching the news on CNN.

The screen showed scenes from the streets of Quito: Mexican soldiers patrolling, streets empty, shops closed. The narration said, "The Mexican Army has fully controlled Ecuador's capital, President Alarcón declared surrender..."

He turned off the TV.

An assistant stood at the door, looking grim.

"Sir, we just received word that Sinopiquiar has been captured."

Turner tapped his fingers on the desk.

"Where was he captured?"

"Colombian border. Mexican Special Forces crossed the border to apprehend him."

Turner was silent for a few seconds.

"What's the Colombian Government's response?"

"They... don't know yet. The Mexicans didn't inform them."

Turner closed his eyes.

"That fool," he whispered, "couldn't even run properly."

The assistant waited for further instructions.

Turner opened his eyes.

"Any news from 'Black Sea Wolf'?"

The assistant shook his head.

"We can't reach them. Their bases have lost contact, possibly taken down."

Turner stood up and walked to the window.

Outside was the night view of the Potomac River, the dark water reflecting a few lights.

"That Russian is still in Mexican hands," he said, "and now so is Sinopiquiar. Together, they know enough to unravel all our lines buried in Latin America."

The assistant said nothing.

Turner turned around.

"Tell our people in Mexico City to prepare for evacuation. From now on, everyone needs to lay low, hide if they can, run if necessary."

The assistant nodded.

"Also," Turner paused, "prepare a statement to distance ourselves. Should those lines be exposed, we need to clear our name immediately."

The assistant was momentarily stunned.

"Sir, that's—"

"I know," Turner interrupted him, "but there's no other option."

February 11, 1998, early morning, Quito, Presidential Palace basement.

Acuña looked at the confession in front of him, his hands trembling.

Sinopiquiar's name, Sinopiquiar's signature, every word Sinopiquiar said—"General Acuña knew about the CIA's money," "General Acuña personally received three payments, totaling five million," "General Acuña said as long as we create disorder among Mexicans, the Americans will support our rise to power."

He set down the confession and looked up.

Opposite him sat Bennett.

"General, do you have anything to say?"

Acuña was silent for a long time.

Then he spoke, his voice hoarse:

"What he said... is true."

Bennett nodded.

"Very well. Let's continue."

He flipped open another document.

"Next, please explain your contact channels with the CIA."

February 11, 1998, 9 AM, Mexico City, Paseo de la Reforma.

Victor's motorcade departed from the National Palace, heading for Capitol Hill.

Today was a special meeting. The agenda was singular: to report the preliminary results of the Ecuadorian military operation.

The streets outside the car window were quiet. There were no protest marches, no protest slogans, just the occasional passerby stopping to watch the motorcade drive by, with complex expressions—curiosity, awe, and a hidden sense of pride.