Capítulo 1382: Chapter 665: “What a Beautiful Sight
The mont the voting results were announced, the sun in Barcelona had just crested the spires of the Sagrada Familia Cathedral, dyeing the blue and yellow flags in the square a golden red.
“It passed!” soone shouted, holding up a sample ballot, only to be swallowed by a more tumultuous cheer. Independence supporters hugged one another, tears mingling with sweat as they waved the Catalonia flag and sang the song that had been repeated countless tis at rallies, as if they could already touch the contours of a newborn nation.
But on the fringe of the square, behind the windows that had the Spanish flag hung last night, soone quietly drew the curtains. An elderly white-haired man gazed at the noisy crowd, his fingertips repeatedly caressing a Spanish national emblem souvenir on the windowsill, releasing a barely audible sigh from his throat.
The news shot toward Madrid like a current, and the phone at the Pri Minister’s Mansion rang almost the mont the result was confird.
Gonzalez listened to the report, showing no surprise, as if he had long anticipated this mont. He picked up the red encrypted phone, his voice cold and somber: “Execute the unification operation. The First Armored Division imdiately crosses the Ebro River to control the Port of Barcelona, the airport, and the communication hubs. Tell the front-line commander, any obstructions should be dealt with without consulting.”
A crisp “Yes, sir” ca from the other end of the line, and as the busy tone at the end of the call faded, Gonzalez had already moved to the TV station’s live cara.
At this mont, all of Spain’s TV signals were switched to the temporary studio at the Pri Minister’s Mansion, with a giant Spanish flag on the backdrop behind him.
“Citizens of Spain.”
Gonzalez’s voice spread through the airwaves to every household, carrying an undeniable authority, “Today, a farce ticulously orchestrated by external forces attempts to divide our country. I must make it clear to everyone that the illegal referendum in the Catalonia region has no legal validity whatsoever from start to finish.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the cara, as if directly addressing the cheering crowds: “What you see is not freedom, but an illusion built with money by xicans. They hide across the ocean, using weapons and lies to stir up our internal strife, just like vultures eyeing dying prey, but they are wrong. Spain is not a cake to be sliced up by anyone!”
The subtitles at the bottom of the screen rolled with news of military advancent: “Armored forces entering Tarragona Province,” “National Guard takes over Barcelona TV Station,” with Gonzalez’s voice suddenly rising: “I order all those bewitched to imdiately put down the so-called independence flag and return to the frawork of law and order. Any act that hinders national unification will be regarded as rebellion!”
“Rember!”
He pointed at the cara, enunciating each word, “The xicans who give you money and teach you slogans will not be responsible for your future. When bullets fly across the street and hos turn into battlefields, they’ll just sip their coffee in their mansions in xico City, admiring the scenery they directed. But the Spanish army will make them know that our determination to defend the country is deeper than the Atlantic Ocean!”
When the live broadcast cut to the streets, the calm in Barcelona had been torn apart.
The crowd under the blue and yellow flags was still shouting, while in the distance, the roar of armored vehicles could be heard.
People tried to set up barricades with trash cans and Molotov cocktails, but were forced to retreat step by step under the advancing shields of riot police. In the sky, Spanish Air Force helicopters swept low, the noise from their rotors drowning out the slogans.
Inside the Catalonia Parliant Building, the independence faction leader was shouting into a microphone: “Madrid is launching a civil war! We must resist!” but his voice was quickly cut off by gunshots from outside the window, warnings, with bullets grazing the flag atop the building and leaving deep marks on the wall.
Victor watched Gonzalez’s rant on TV, his fingertips tapping lightly on the tabletop. Casare pushed the door open and entered, his face grave: “The Spanish army has already controlled key intersections in Barcelona, and various countries have begun expressing support for Spain’s sovereignty; protests are gathering outside our embassy.”
Victor picked up the remote control and turned off the TV, “Control? Does he think tanks can stitch together a torn country?” He walked over to a map, his fingertip pointing at the Gibraltar Strait, “Tell our representatives in the Latin Arican Countries Alliance it’s ti to discuss an energy embargo on Spain. As for Gonzalez’s accusations…”
He turned to look at Casare, a hint of amusent flashing in his eyes, “Let the Ministry of Foreign Affairs issue a statent saying that xico has always respected the sovereignty of all nations and suggests that the Spanish governnt exercise restraint and listen to its people’s voices. The more righteous it sounds, the more it will rile him up.”
Casare had just sent out the draft statent when it was first posted on the governnt website.
Less than half an hour later.
The office’s private phone line started ringing urgently.
He picked up the phone, and imdiately heard the suppressed anger of an EU diplomatic representative on the other end: “Mr. Victor, the statent from the xican Ministry of Foreign Affairs is pouring fuel on the fire! The EU Council has reached a consensus and will set up a task force to investigate your country’s interference in Spain’s internal affairs, not ruling out the possibility of taking restrictive trade asures.”
“Restrictive trade asures?” Victor chuckled, tapping a rhythmic pattern on the tabletop with his fingers, “When Spanish colonizers traded our gold and silver with muskets and plagues back in the day, why didn’t the wise n in Brussels think of setting rules?”
He paused, “Tell those gentlen sitting in Gothic architecture that the customs stamp of Latin Arican countries carries more weight than a dieval parchnt treaty, let them wait!”
Then he hung up the phone heavily.
The mont the phone was hung up, Casare pushed the door open and entered, clutching an encrypted telegram: “Boss, news from Brazil; anti-drug special forces have seized three tons of cocaine in the Amazon Basin. The registration information of the transport ship points to a shell company in Panama, but the satellite phone records on board show that the recent communication counterpart was a fishing station in Spain’s Canary Islands.”
Victor walked over to the large map of Latin Arica, pressing his finger heavily at the mouth of the Amazon River in Brazil: “As expected, the Spaniards can’t deal with us, so they want to open a breach in Brazil. The anti-drug campaign has disturbed too many people’s interests. Those drug lords laundering money in Europe must be happy to let Spain create trouble for Brazil now.”
“Should we remind the Brazilians?” Casare asked.
“Not only remind them, but also send them a big gift.”
Victor turned and took a file from the safe, “This is a list intercepted by the xican Intelligence Departnt; it contains the account information for several European banks laundering money for the Colombian anti-governnt ard forces. Three of these banks’ largest shareholders are Spanish Royal Family-controlled enterprises. Have the Brazilian foreign ministry pass this list to the International Criminal Police Organization, claiming it was found during anti-drug operations.” He sneered, “I want to see how those European politicians, who keep preaching about fighting drug cri, explain their banks’ intimate connection with drug traffickers.”
When Casare took the file, his fingertips burned.
Encrypted radio waves penetrated the Atlantic night, delivering the list stained with dirty money to Brasilia. Three days later, red notices from the International Criminal Police Organization filled airports across Europe. A century-old bank’s director in Madrid was suddenly taken away at a press conference, a Spanish Royal Family honor dal peeking out from his suit pocket under the flashlights.
Gonzalez, watching the chaotic scene on TV, smashed an antique vase in his office furiously. The fishing station in the Canary Islands had been sealed, but the anti-drug gunfire in the Amazon River was still echoing, like slaps hitting the face of the Spanish governnt that sought to shift attention.
It left him extrely embarrassed.
Neither inside nor outside was he human.
Inside the National Palace in xico City, Victor was raising a glass in front of a map, the moonlight outside flowing over the contour of the Latin Arican continent, reflecting a vast ocean in his eyes.
And the storm over the Atlantic Ocean had just begun to stir the waves!
…
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