Capítulo 1377: Chapter 663: Let the Bullets Fly for a While, Right Over Your Skull! (Part 3)
He walked to the desk and picked up a just-received fax, which was an urgent notice from the United Nations Human Rights Council, requesting the Spanish Governnt to submit a detailed report on the Bernabéu unrest.
“Last night, the President of Brazil called , saying they are planning to propose the establishnt of an anti-colonial racism monitoring agency at the summit. This morning, Uruguay has already announced they are freezing cultural exchange programs with Spain. You see, the longer the bullet flies, the more people gather under the muzzle.”
He pointed out the window: “In Latin Arica Square in xico City, people have already organized a candlelight vigil voluntarily. It’s not a protest, but a prayer for our injured compatriots at the Bernabéu. We must make them understand, Latin Arica is not a scattered sand.”
The office fell silent, with only a slight sound from the air vent.
The diplomats looked at Victor’s calm profile.
It always felt off; is Donald really such a patient person?
This person… has a pretty petty mind.
But they looked at each other and could only listen to his “nonsense” for now; anyway, it’s impossible for Victor to suffer a loss.
That afternoon, xico’s foreign ministry issued a short statent, with no condemnation, no protest, only one sentence: “We trust in the justice of the international community, and believe that history will eventually judge all injustice.”
The New York Tis interpreted this statent as “the strategic forbearance of Latin Arican countries,” while Madrid’s National Newspaper mocked it as “cowardice incapable of counterattack.”
Only a small number of high-ranking officials in xico understood…
What Victor was up to!
…
The dinner party at the Madrid Pri Minister’s Mansion was reaching its climax. Gonzalez, holding a champagne glass, was enthusiastically boasting to the Minister of Defense: “See? Those Latin Arican monkeys made a fuss for three days, and in the end, didn’t they have to obediently shut up? The banner at the Bernabéu is a lesson for them; in European territory, they have to follow our rules!”
The Minister of Finance promptly chid in: “The Pri Minister is wise! Now even Brussels is praising us for our firm and asured response, saying it’s a model for dealing with immigrant unrest.”
The crowd burst into laughter, and just as the laughter subsided, the Pri Minister’s private secretary suddenly barged in with a pale face, tightly clutching an encrypted phone, the cord pulled taut.
“Pri Minister, Catalonia…” The secretary’s voice quivered like a shaking bladder, “Just now, the President of the Catalonia Autonomous Region held an ergency press conference at the Barcelona City Hall, announcing… announcing an independence referendum in three days!”
“!!!!”
Everyone was stunned.
The champagne glass in Gonzalez’s hand clattered onto the carpet, spilling wine onto his polished shoes. He grabbed the secretary by the collar, “Say it again!!”
“Back to the office, everyone high-level goes.” He took a deep breath, trying hard to compose himself, but his steps were sowhat unsteady.
There was a television in the office.
The screen was broadcasting breaking news, with Catalonia President Hordi standing in front of the blue and yellow two-colored flag of the autonomous region, his expression solemn as a statue: “After an ergency parliantary vote, with 68 votes in favor, 52 against, and 1 abstention, the Catalonia Independence Referendum Bill has been officially passed. Three days from now, at 9 a.m., we will decide our future with ballots.”
The cara swept across the parliantary hall, where supporting parliantarians stood up and applauded. Soone held up a banner reading “Free Catalonia.” In the background, an electronic screen was scrolling paintings of the War of Spanish Succession from 1714, a perpetual pain in the hearts of Catalonians.
“A bunch of traitors!” The Minister of Internal Affairs suddenly flipped the dining table, “Last year they stirred for a referendum, and we sent the National Guard to seal the polling stations. Dare they co again?!”
Gonzalez slumped into a chair, his face gloomy.
On the TV, Hordi was announcing the referendum details: “All residents in Catalonia for over five years, regardless of nationality, can vote. A turnout rate of over 60% makes it valid…”
“Madman! They’re splitting the country!” The Minister of Defense roared, reaching for the phone, “I’ll order the troops stationed in Barcelona to take over the parliant now!”
“Stop!” Gonzalez suddenly shouted, “Do you want all of Europe to see Spanish troops firing on their own citizens?”
“Contact the Constitutional Court imdiately!” Gonzalez’s teeth were gritting with a creaking sound, “Declare the referendum illegal for ! Freeze all financial accounts of the autonomous governnt, put all the people with Hordi on the wanted list for !”
The TV host suddenly paused as the cara cut to a live shot, showing soone running up holding a piece of paper. He glanced at it, appearing astounded, “Breaking news, in Catalonia Square in the city center, over 100,000 people are gathering for a rally supporting the referendum, and soone has set the Spanish flag on fire.”
The TV screen instantly cut to the live scene in the square, where flas roared, tens of thousands of citizens held up the blue-and-yellow independence flags, chanting in unison “Catalonia free.” Several young n climbed the Columbus statue, tying the autonomous region’s flag around its wrist.
Gonzalez saw black, almost falling out of his chair. He finally understood, the unrest among the Latin Arican immigrants was rely a smokescreen. The real push was hidden in Catalonia, which had never been at rest since his first day in office, seizing the stalemate between Spain and Latin Arican countries to stab a fatal blow.
!!!
“Victor, it must be Victor!” Gonzalez’s face had a bit of an iron look.
Outside, the night in Madrid was dense, but the lights at the Pri Minister’s Mansion were as bright as daylight.
The Cabinet mbers were like ants on a hot pan, phone calls ringing one after another, with urgent calls from Barcelona, warnings from Brussels, and inquiries from the Royal Family.
anwhile, in the City Hall of Barcelona, Hordi had just hung up an anonymous call, the receiver still faintly echoing a deep voice: “The money is in the account, the rest, let the Spaniards have a taste of it.”
“Don’t let us down.”
…
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