Chapter 2133 - 866: "In Mexico, Only Mr. Victor Can Issue Indulgence

May 9, 1998, Golan Heights, east bank of Lake Tiberias, Syrian Army 5th Division's position.

Brigadier General Hassan stood atop the tank, holding binoculars, watching the western shore of the lake.

The United States' camp was already set up.

White tents, orderly formations, helicopters taking off and landing repeatedly, like a tireless swarm of worker bees.

Two kilometers further south is the Mexican camp. The tents are green, slightly smaller than those of the United States, but arranged even more neatly. In the center of the camp stands a gigantic Mexican flag, its green, white, and red colors flapping loudly in the wind.

An aide climbed onto the tank, handing over a dispatch.

"Commander, orders from Damascus. We are to withdraw five kilometers to create conditions for negotiations."

Hassan did not take it. He looked at the Mexican flag on the western shore of the lake.

"Negotiations? Negotiate what? That we've lost five thousand men and then retreat to where we started?"

The aide bowed his head.

"Also, the Mexican commander wants to meet you. Tonight, at the United Nations observation post north of Tiberias City."

Hassan turned around, looking at the aide's face. "Mexican? Wants to meet me?"

"He said his name is Major Sanchez. He's the commander of the 3rd Special Forces Battalion."

Hassan was silent for three seconds. Then he laughed, a cold laugh. "A major wanting to see a brigadier general, a Mexican, quite presumptuous."

Though he said that, he still ordered a vehicle to be prepared, and headed to the United Nations observation post.

This building had half its structure blown away in street battles five days ago; the remaining few rooms barely providing shelter from the wind and rain. The blue flag of the United Nations Peacekeeping Forces was atop the roof, flapping loudly in the wind.

Major Sanchez arrived punctually.

He wore the desert camouflage of the Mexican Army, carrying no weapons, only a translator. Hassan arrived earlier, with two guards behind him, the muzzles of their AKs pointing downward.

The two men sat face to face. A teapot was placed on the table, prepared by the United Nations observer, already cold.

Hassan spoke first. "Major, what do you want to talk about?"

Sanchez didn't rush to answer. He picked up the cup of cold tea, taking a sip.

"General, do you know why I'm here at the Golan Heights?"

Hassan looked at him. "Peacekeeping. That's what your people always say."

Sanchez put down the teacup. "Not for peacekeeping. To let you know, this battle can't go on."

Hassan's eyes narrowed. "You, a major, who are you speaking for?"

Sanchez didn't avoid his gaze. "For Mr. Victor."

The room was silent for three seconds.

"Mr. Victor wants me to tell you that the blood of the Syrians was not spilled in vain. But the lives of Syrians cannot be wasted either. The water of Lake Tiberias has been drunk by Israelis for decades; it's time Arabs get a sip too. But how to drink it is something to be negotiated, not forced by arms."

Hassan's hand pressed down on the table. "We've lost five thousand men—"

"Three thousand Israelis dead."

Sanchez interrupted him, "Four thousand Egyptians dead. Two thousand Palestinians dead. One thousand Lebanese dead. Two hundred Iranians—" he paused, "because they arrived late and stayed at the back."

Hassan's face changed. "What do you know?"

"I know your division, has fought from the north of the Golan Heights, advancing eighty kilometers in five days, with seven fierce battles, losing two thousand three hundred men. I know you were shot through the left arm by a sniper outside Hasspin Village, directing with the right hand. I know before crossing the lake, you saluted in the direction of Tiberias City."

Hassan's hand withdrew from the table.

Sanchez continued speaking. "Mr. Victor says, Syrians have dignity. People with dignity should not perish at the negotiating table. General, the ceasefire agreement will be signed the day after tomorrow. Before the signing, don't you want to see the Syrian flag, flying over the eastern shore of Lake Tiberias for one more day?"

Hassan was silent for a long time.

"Tell Mr. Victor," he finally spoke, "Syrians, remember today."

He stood up, turned, and walked out.

The two guards followed behind.

At the doorway, he paused. "Major, how many men in your battalion?"

"Three hundred."

Hassan nodded. "Three hundred men, daring to come to the Golan Heights. Mexicans, quite bold."

A fierce flash crossed his eyes!

Jerusalem, Prime Minister's Office.

Shamir stood by the window, looking at the silhouette of the Temple Mount in the distance. The moonlight shone on the Golden Dome Mosque, reflecting a silvery white glow.

Moses pushed the door open and entered.

"Prime Minister, the conditions from the United States are: two-thirds of Golan Heights returned to Syria, one-third to Israel. The Sinai Peninsula fully returned to Egypt but demilitarized. Gaza Strip administered by the Palestinian National Authority, with Israel retaining security control. At the Lebanon border, Israeli troops to withdraw, to be overseen by United Nations Peacekeeping Forces."

Shamir did not turn. "Mexicans?"

"Their conditions haven't changed. Apologies, compensation, handing over individuals. Then, Mexican Army participates in Golan Heights peacekeeping."

Shamir turned around. "Are the apologies ready?"

Moses took a document from the briefcase. "Ready. Very restrained in wording—'regret', 'incident', 'technical malfunction'. It doesn't use the word 'apology'."

Shamir took the document, glanced at it. Then he tore it up.

"Rewrite. Use 'apology'. Use 'act of war'. Use 'take responsibility'."

Moses was stunned. "Prime Minister, that equates to admitting."

"Admitting what?" Shamir interrupted him, "Admit that we bombed the Mexican embassy? The whole world knows it was us. Admit that we killed seven Mexican civilians? The whole world knows they were killed by us. Deny now and wait for the Mexicans to disclose the interrogation records of that pilot? Wait till they present the shrapnel examination report from the embassy ruins at the United Nations Security Council table?"