Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1806 - 795: Latin America’s Last Bit of Affection? (Part 5)
Capítulo 1806: Chapter 795: Latin America’s Last Bit of Affection? (Part 5)
He walked to the door and turned back: “One last thing, Mr. President. History is written by the brave. Guatemala has a chance to shake off the label of a ‘Mexican puppet’ and become a truly independent, powerful nation. And you have the opportunity to be the ‘founder’ of this country, not a ‘little brother’ to the leader of a neighboring country.”
“The United Kingdom is willing to help you!”
This sentence pierced Alfonso’s heart like a needle.
He remembered what Victor had said to him three years ago: “Alfonso, do your best. What Guatemala needs is a captain, not another dictator.”
At that time, the tone was encouraging, but thinking back now, it seemed more like an instruction from a superior to a subordinate.
Sure enough, once the heart changes, everything seems like it’s manipulating you.
Just like with my twenty-something girlfriends back then.
“I will seriously consider it,” Alfonso said.
After Salisbury left, only the Portillo brothers remained in the study.
Herman rushed to the coffee table, picking up the document with trembling fingers: “Brother! Five hundred million British Pounds! And subsequent oil profit sharing! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”
Alfonso, however, walked to the window and watched Salisbury’s car lights vanish down the tree-lined path of the manor.
“Herman, do you remember how father died?”
Herman was taken aback: “Beaten to death by the military government’s police… during the strike suppression of 1982. Why do you suddenly ask?”
“Because of what father said before he died.” Alfonso’s voice was soft, “He said, ‘Son, never trust those who wear suits and ties. Today they’ll give you candy, tomorrow they’ll take your life.'”
“British people are not the military government!”
“But they are the same.”
Alfonso turned around, weariness on his face that Herman had never seen before, “They all want to use us as pawns. The difference is, the military government wants us as slaves, the British want us as cannon fodder.”
Herman waved the document excitedly: “So what? At least the British give money! Give weapons! What has Mexico given? Charity! And condescending moral lectures! Brother, we are not their dogs!”
“So should we become the British’s dogs?” Alfonso retorted.
“We are cooperating! Strategic partners!” Herman almost shouted, “With this money, we can arm an army of a hundred thousand! We can buy the most advanced fighter jets! By then, not just Mexico, the entire Central America will have to watch our steps!”
Alfonso was silent for a long time.
Outside, the night sky of Guatemala had no stars, only heavy clouds.
He finally said, “Follow the script the British provided. Also, have the Department of Defense come up with a ‘Border Defense Enhancement Plan’, budget… just write two hundred million US Dollars. The remaining three hundred million, transfer to our account in the Cayman Islands.”
Herman beamed a smile: “I’ll handle it right away!”
“Wait.” Alfonso called him back, “Before the plan is implemented, don’t let any word of it leak. Especially not to those ‘idealists’ within our government. If Mexico finds out we’re in contact with the British, everything will be lost.”
“Don’t worry, brother.” Herman patted his chest, “I know what to do.”
After his brother left, Alfonso stood alone in the study.
He walked to the fireplace, watching the flickering flames, suddenly recalling that night four years ago: in a safe house in Mexico City, it was just Victor, Casare, and him, gathered around a crude map, planning the overthrow of the military government.
Back then, they believed the revolution would change everything.
“The revolution did change everything,” Alfonso murmured, “it’s just that the direction of change wasn’t quite what we thought.”
He took a pistol from the drawer, a gift from Victor when he took office as president, with the words “For the People” engraved in Spanish on the handle.
Now, he had to hold this gun to betray the man who gave it to him.
The flames crackled in the fireplace, as if mocking this absurd world.
…
Three days later, in Mexico City, at the National Security Council meeting room.
Victor sat at one end of a long table, several reports spread before him. Casare, President Anatoly Lunacharsky, Bramo, the Minister of Internal Affairs, the Director of the Counterintelligence Bureau Bennett, and Air Force leader Admiral Zolf Sherman were gathered on either side.
“Let’s begin.” Victor said.
Bennett stood up first and turned on the projector.
The screen displayed a complicated communication network diagram, the central node marked with “Guatemala City.”
“Over the past 72 hours, we detected abnormal communication activity among high-ranking officials in the Guatemalan government.” Bennett used a laser pointer to indicate several flashing red dots, “The frequency of encrypted calls between the Presidential Palace, Department of Defense, and Ministry of Internal Affairs has tripled, and more importantly, seven signals were directed externally.”
“Where to?” Casare asked.
“Two to London, three to Miami, one to Panama City, and one…”
Bennett switched the display to a satellite photo, “at a private manor forty kilometers west of Guatemala City. We traced the signal of an encrypted satellite phone, registered to the ‘British Council.'”
The atmosphere in the meeting room turned heavy.
“The British Council?” Bramo frowned, “Their representative in Guatemala is…”
“Sir Richard Salisbury.” Bennett brought up a photo, “Former deputy director of MI6 Middle East Department, ‘retired’ three years ago and transferred to become the British Council’s Central America representative. According to our files, he is proficient in both Spanish and Portuguese, with over twenty years of working experience—or rather, intelligence activities—in Latin America.”
