Chapter 2101 - 856: They Were Afraid of Getting Ganged Up On, So They Struck First! (Part 3)

His voice was soft, as if drifting from a distant place.

An official leaned in closer.

"Tell who?"

Arafat's eyes shifted slightly.

"Tell the Mexicans..."

He didn't finish.

12 PM, Moscow outskirts, that villa.

The boss sat in that large chair, holding a glass of vodka.

The fire in the fireplace burned fiercely, his back was warm.

The phone rang.

He picked it up.

"Boss, the Middle East exploded."

The boss nodded.

"I know."

The voice on the other end was filled with barely contained excitement.

"The Squid Man attacked Gaza, Arafat is dying, the Mexican Embassy was bombed. Victor and Shamir are already arguing."

The boss smiled.

It was a light smile.

The "Principal's" chess game had finally come to this point.

He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, the snow in Moscow had melted, the sunlight shone on the muddy ground, dazzlingly bright.

"Tell the Chechen side," he said, "hide Anna well. Tell the London side to have Andrei keep waiting. Tell our friends in Tel Aviv—"

He paused.

"Have them be ready. The play has just begun."

2 PM, Mexico City, top floor of the "Feathered Serpent Temple."

When Bennett pushed the door open, Victor was reviewing a newly delivered intelligence report.

"Victor, Arafat woke up."

Victor looked up.

"What did he say?"

Bennett paused.

"He said, 'Tell the Mexicans.'"

Victor squinted his eyes.

"Tell the Mexicans what?"

Bennett shook his head.

"Don't know. He didn't finish."

Victor was silent for three seconds.

Then he stood up, walked to the window.

"Bennett, why do you think the Squid chose to act now?"

Bennett considered.

"Because they're afraid. Afraid of being surrounded, afraid of not being able to wait, afraid—"

"Afraid of us." Victor interrupted him.

Bennett was stunned.

"Afraid of us?"

Victor turned around.

"Yes. Afraid of us. Afraid of us getting involved in the Middle East. Afraid of us creating another Scotland at their doorstep. Afraid of us teaming up with those Arabs, cutting off their retreat."

He walked back to his desk, sat down.

"So they struck first. As a display to everyone. As a display to HMS, to the ZZ Party, to Syria, to Iran. And also to us."

He picked up the report about the embassy.

"These seven Mexicans, they're sending a message to me."

Bennett watched him.

"What does the message say?"

Victor sneered.

"The message says: 'Don't come.'"

4 PM, Tel Aviv, Prime Minister's office.

Shamir sat behind his desk, reviewing the newly delivered intelligence.

The 1st Armored Brigade of Mexico was entering combat readiness.

He set the intelligence down.

Moses stood in front of him, his face pale.

"Shamir, are the Mexicans crazy?"

Shamir shook his head.

"They're not crazy. They're letting us know, they're not joking."

Moses was stunned.

"What do we do?"

Shamir stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, the Mediterranean sun sprinkled onto the sea surface, shimmering like a postcard.

But there's no war in a postcard.

"Tell the Air Force," he said, "temporarily transfer that F-16 pilot to the logistics base. Keep him away from Tel Aviv."

Moses frowned.

"What's the use of this?"

Shamir turned around.

"No use. But at least it signals to Victor that we're listening."

6 PM, Mexico City, top floor of the "Feathered Serpent Temple."

Victor looked at the intelligence just sent from Tel Aviv.

F-16 pilot Eilad Shachar, reassigned to Ramon Air Force Base's logistics department.

He set the intelligence down.

"Bennett."

Bennett walked over.

"Yes."

"Tell our people in Squid, keep an eye on that pilot. If he dies, I want to know how. If he's alive, I want to know what he eats, drinks, who he talks to every day."

Bennett nodded.

"Also," Victor said, "send a gift to Arafat."

Bennett was momentarily stunned.

"What gift?"

Victor thought for a moment.

"The best doctor. Our people. Tell him Mexico is willing to help him. Tell him—"

He paused.

"Tell him the enemy of the enemy is a friend."

8 PM, Gaza, European Hospital.

Arafat lay in his hospital bed, staring at the ceiling.

The door opened.

A man in a white coat entered, in his forties, wearing glasses, speaking Arabic with an accent.

"Chairman Arafat, I'm a doctor from Mexico."

Arafat's eyes shifted slightly.

"Mexico..."

The doctor nodded.

"Mr. Victor asked me to tell you something."

Arafat waited.

The doctor leaned closer.

"He said: 'The enemy of the enemy is a friend.'

Arafat was silent for three seconds.

Then he smiled.

It was a light, bitter smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Tell Mr. Victor," he said, his voice hoarse, "I heard."

Early morning, Mexico City.

Victor stood by the window, gazing at the dazzling lights of Paseo de la Reforma outside.

Bennett stood behind him.

"Victor, are we really going to go to war with the Squid?"

Victor didn't answer.

He stared out the window.

For a long time.

Then he spoke:

"Bennett, do you know why the Squid, this country, has survived in the Middle East for so many years?"

Bennett thought it over.

"Because they're ruthless?"

Victor shook his head.

"Because they're gamblers. Every time, they bet the opponent won't dare to act. Every time, they bet the opponent isn't ruthless enough. Every time—"

He paused.

"They win the bet."

He turned around.

"But this time, their bet is wrong."

Bennett watched him.

Victor walked back to his desk, picked up the report on the embassy.

"Seven Mexicans. They gambled with the lives of seven Mexicans that I wouldn't do anything."

He laid down the report.

"Let them wait and see."

Outside, the lights of Paseo de la Reforma flickered in the night.

In the distance, the eastern sky began to turn white.

A new day was coming.

But for many people, daylight doesn't represent hope.

It only means—the war has begun.