Capítulo 1803: Chapter 795: Latin Arica’s Last Bit of Affection? (Part 2)
“Understood.” Casare noted down.
Victor added, “Deploy an electronic warfare company to the Chiapas border. Officially, it’s to ‘assist with border surveillance,’ but the actual mission is to conduct full-spectrum monitoring of military communications on the Guatemalan side.”
“What if we’re discovered…”
“Let them discover it,” Victor said, “Sotis, baring your teeth is not to bite, but to remind certain fools who the real Tiger is in this jungle.”
After Casare left, Victor stood alone on the terrace.
He recalled what Alfonso Portillo looked like four years ago, a young man in his thirties, wearing worn-out work pants, passionately addressing him and Casare in a safe house in Tijuana: “We must build a country for GR! No oppression, no corruption, no exploitation by foreign capitalists!”
Back then, his eyes burned with ideals.
Now in Alfonso’s eyes, there probably remains only the glow of the oil field and the reflection from the rcedes-Benz.
“Humanity…” Victor muttered to himself, turning and walking back indoors.
Sharpen the knife to a point, a mistake of youth!
At the sa ti, in Guatemala City, at the Presidential Palace.
Alfonso Portillo sat in a silk robe behind the mahogany desk in his private study. Spread out on the desk were not state docunts, but three distinct files.
The first was a mo from the xico Ministry of Foreign Affairs from last week, politely but strongly worded: “We hope the Guatemalan governnt clarifies its intention to deploy more troops in the Chiapas border area and reiterates xico’s legitimate rights to resources in that region.”
The second was a report from the Treasury Departnt Minister, who is also his cousin: “Preliminary valuation report of the Usumacinta Oil Field: based on current international oil prices, the proven reserves are worth over $90 billion. If using the extraction technology provided by xico, the annual output could reach…”
The third was the thinnest, only one page, with no letterhead or signature.
The content was handwritten in English, with handwriting as neat as print: “Sir Richard Salisbury, the British Council representative in Central Arica, requests an ‘informal eting’ with Your Excellency to discuss ‘regional matters of mutual concern.’ Ti and place are up to you.”
Alfonso stared at these three files, frowning deeply.
The door of the study was gently pushed open, and his brother, Minister of Internal Affairs Herman Portillo, walked in.
At 30 years old, Herman was half a head shorter than his brother but more robust, with a knife scar on his face left from fighting the military governnt police ten years ago.
“Still not asleep?” Herman closed the door, glancing at the docunts on the desk, “Looking at those three things again?”
“What do you think?” Alfonso didn’t look up.
Herman walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of whiskey: “xicans treat us like dogs. Throw us a bone when needed, and pull the leash when not. As for Chiapas’ oil, the geological structure clearly has more on our side. Why do they claim it’s theirs?”
“Because their tanks are only fifty kiloters away.”
Alfonso said coldly, “Because their air force base is in Tapachula, twenty minutes’ flight from the Presidential Palace’s airspace.”
“So we just have to give in?” Herman downed half the glass, “Big brother, have you forgotten why we revolted? Was it for Guatemalans to live kneeling down or standing up?”
“Standing up requires capital.”
Alfonso finally looked up, “When the military governnt fell, the national treasury was empty. The Yanks withdrew their investnts, and the European Union’s aid was just a drop in the bucket. Without xico’s $200 million loan and oil assistance, we’d not even be able to pay civil servants’ salaries.”
“And then? Are we supposed to be grateful for life?”
Herman leaned over the desk, “Big brother, after the news about the oil field got out, do you know how many international companies have contacted ? Exxon from the United States, BP from the United Kingdom, Total from France… Their offers are ten tis what xico offered! And it’s upfront!”
Alfonso’s eyes flickered for a mont.
Herman caught this slight wavering, lowering his voice: “Sir Richard Salisbury gave a ssage through the Middleman yesterday. The United Kingdom is willing to provide a £500 million interest-free loan specifically for ‘border area security construction.’ They also promised that if we take a ‘firm stance’ on the Chiapas issue, the British Petroleum Company will buy our entire production for the next twenty years at the highest market price.”
“What’s the condition?” Alfonso asked.
Herman held up two fingers, “First, allow a British ‘geological advisory team’ into the border area for ‘scientific exploration.’ Second, ‘appropriately express’ concern over xico’s unilateral expansion at international venues.”
Alfonso fell silent.
Five hundred million dollars is enough to re-equip the army and completely eliminate the lingering remnants of the military governnt still active in the shadows. More importantly, the British support ans an alternative path—if things sour with xico, at least there’s another major country to rely on.
But the risk…
“Victor is not to be trifled with.”
Alfonso said, “What he did in Belize, what he did in North Arica… that man never leaves room when he moves.”
“That’s why we need the British!” Herman said urgently, “Big brother, do you think the British only want oil fields? They want to nail a nail in Latin Arica! xico is too much in the lilight now, the Yanks have crumbled, and Europeans fear they’d be next. The British want to use our hand to let Victor bleed a little!”
He leaned in closer, his voice almost a whisper, “And we don’t need to actually start a war. Just create a little friction at the border, draw international dia attention, and let the United Nations intervene. By then, the ownership of the oil field would need to be renegotiated. At worst, it would be ‘international co-managent,’ and we could at least get half!”
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