Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 667 "Truly a beautiful sight"

Casare's comment, "It's a beautiful sight to behold," instantly ignited the already heated public debate.

The next day, the front pages of major European newspapers were almost entirely dominated by this sentence.

Le Figaro used a bold headline to question, "What 'landscape' is Mexico admiring?"
The Times placed it on the same page as the blue and yellow flags of Catalonia and the explosions and flames of the Basque Country, with the subtitle "Geopolitical battle behind a sarcastic remark".

Even the usually neutral newspaper El Mundo couldn't help but comment: "This is not diplomatic rhetoric, it's blatant provocation, as if Mexico is standing in the stands applauding Spain's internal turmoil."

Inside the Prime Minister's residence in Madrid, González tore the newspaper carrying that sentence to shreds. "Landscape? I'll show him what hell is!" he roared at the head of intelligence. "Investigate! Investigate to the death! The Catalan money, ETA's weapons, and those suddenly appearing propaganda teams—it's definitely the Mexicans' doing!"

The main point about Casarte is that it's very targeted.

This investigation was driven by a desperate, reckless madness from the very beginning.

Agents from the Spanish National Intelligence Center (CNI), like keen-nosed hunting dogs, followed the slightest clues of financial flows and delved into the labyrinth of global finance.

They discovered that the large, anonymous sum of money that suddenly poured in before the Catalan independence referendum, ostensibly from an offshore company in the Caribbean, ultimately pointed to a non-governmental organization in Guatemala called the "American Cooperation and Development Fund".

Even more suspiciously, there is no information available about the chairman of the foundation, and the largest donor to the foundation is Mexico's state-owned oil company.

“Not enough.” Gonzalez slammed the investigation report on the table. “NGOs? Donations? Is this what you call evidence? I need irrefutable proof!”

The intelligence chief wiped his sweat and handed over another document: "We monitored that ETA's top brass had encrypted communications with a military attaché at the Mexican consulate in France before the explosion. Although the content was destroyed, the timing coincided with the influx of new weapons into the Basque Country. In addition, some of the core members of the professional propaganda team in Plaça Catalunya were recognized as having attended training by left-wing political parties in Mexico last year."

González's eyes lit up as he paced back and forth in the office. "Never mind, spread this message. Mexicans are awful."

Mexico did not directly intervene, but acted like a director behind the scenes, providing the stage and props for Spain's internal turmoil with funds, technology, and connections. After this news spread in a small circle, the reactions of European countries became subtle. The French president privately called González, expressing in a complex tone that "careful handling is needed to avoid the situation escalating into a confrontation between Latin America and Europe." The German Chancellor publicly called for "resolving differences through diplomatic channels," but refused to comment on whether Mexico was interfering in the internal affairs of other countries.

Only the United Kingdom, taking advantage of the unrest in Ireland, passed a resolution at the UN Security Council condemning "interference by external forces in the internal affairs of sovereign states." Although it did not name names, it was clear to everyone who it was targeting.

Inside the National Palace in Mexico, Victor was looking at a copy of the proposal. "The descendants of Churchill have certainly inherited the talent for stirring up trouble."

He pushed the document to Casare, "Let the Foreign Office respond by saying, 'Britain should first deal with the gunfire in Northern Ireland before discussing sovereignty.'"

Casare nodded in agreement, then said worriedly, "The Spanish are cracking down harder and harder. That Americas Cooperation and Development Fund is under surveillance. Should we..."

“No need,” Viktor interrupted him, picking up his coffee cup. “The cleaner something is, the more suspicious it becomes. Leaving a few flaws makes it seem more real.”

A ruthless glint flashed in his eyes as he spread his hands. "Besides, even if they get irrefutable evidence, so what? All of Europe is laughing at Spain right now. Do they dare risk making enemies of the entire Latin America by declaring war on us?"

"Stop kidding, they can't possibly come all the way from the Atlantic. Unless they have engines in their backsides."

That being said, Mexico quietly tightened its grip. The foundation suddenly announced a "suspension of operations due to funding issues," the military attaché to France returned home early citing "health reasons," and several key members of the Catalan propaganda team disappeared into the crowds of Barcelona.

But the backlash still came.

Spain’s far-right parties, along with xenophobic groups in Italy and Hungary, held a rally in Brussels to “defend European civilization.” At the rally, they not only insulted Latin American immigrants as “civilization parasites,” but also displayed a fake photograph of Victor wearing an NC military uniform standing in front of a Catalan independence flag.

Although the photo was quickly confirmed to be a composite, it caused a huge uproar on social media. Protests involving the burning of Spanish flags began to appear in the streets of Argentina, Colombia, and other countries, and the Latin American Federation announced an indefinite suspension of free trade negotiations with the European Union.

Everyone may criticize each other, but time keeps moving forward.

The time for voting came quickly.

That day, the streets of Barcelona were unusually calm. There were no marches or slogans, only people dressed in various colors lining up to enter the polling stations. The blue and yellow bicolor flag was still flying, but more windows displayed the Spanish flag, which had been distributed overnight by volunteers who had come from Madrid.

The moment the vote results were announced, the Barcelona sun had just passed over the spire of the Sagrada Familia, turning the blue and yellow flags in the square a golden red.

"It's passed!" someone roared, holding up a sample ballot, only to be swallowed up by an even louder cheer. Independence supporters embraced each other, tears mingling with sweat as they waved Catalan flags and sang the song that had been repeated countless times at the rallies, as if they could already touch the outline of their newborn nation.

But at the edge of the square, behind the windows where the Spanish flag had been hung the night before, someone silently drew the curtains. An elderly man with white hair looked at the noisy crowd, his fingertips repeatedly stroking the Spanish national emblem medal on the windowsill, and he let out a barely audible sigh.

The news shot through Madrid like an electric current, and the Prime Minister's office phone rang almost the instant the result was confirmed.

After hearing the report, González showed no surprise, as if he had been waiting for this moment. He picked up the red encrypted phone, his voice cold and gloomy: "Execute the unified operation. The 1st Armored Division will immediately cross the Ebro River and take control of the port, airport, and communications hub of Barcelona. Tell the frontline commanders that they do not need to ask for permission if they encounter any obstacles."

A crisp "Yes, ma'am" came from the other end of the phone, and before the busy tone of the call had even faded, Gonzalez had already walked in front of the television station's live broadcast camera.

At that moment, all television signals across Spain were switched to the Prime Minister's temporary studio, with a huge Spanish flag as the backdrop behind him. "Citizens of Spain."

González's voice, carried on the radio, resonated in every household with undeniable authority: "Today, a farce meticulously orchestrated by external forces is attempting to divide our country. I must clearly tell everyone that the illegal referendum in Catalonia has never had any legal validity from beginning to end."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the camera as if looking directly at the cheering crowd: "What you see is not freedom, but an illusion built by Mexicans with money. They hide on the other side of the ocean, stirring up our internal strife with weapons and lies, like vultures eyeing their dying prey. But they are wrong. Spain is not a cake to be carved up!"

The scrolling text at the bottom of the screen announced the army's advance: "Armored forces have entered Tarragona province," "The Civil Guard has taken over Barcelona TV." González's voice suddenly rose: "I order all those who have been misled to immediately drop the so-called banner of independence and return to the framework of law and order. Any act that hinders national unity will be considered rebellion!"

"remember!"

He pointed at the camera and said, word by word, “Those Mexicans who give you money and teach you to shout slogans will not be responsible for your future. When bullets fly through the streets and your home becomes a battlefield, they will only be in their mansions in Mexico City, drinking coffee and enjoying the scenery they have created. But the Spanish army will let them know that our determination to defend our country is deeper than the Atlantic Ocean!”

When the live stream cut to the streets, the tranquility of Barcelona had already been shattered.

The crowd under the blue and yellow flags was still shouting, while the roar of armored vehicles could be heard in the distance.

Some attempted to set up roadblocks with trash cans and Molotov cocktails, but were forced to retreat step by step by the riot police's shields. In the sky, Spanish Air Force helicopters flew low, the noise of their rotors drowning out the slogans.

Inside the Catalan Parliament building, the leader of the independence movement was shouting into the microphone: "Madrid is waging a civil war! We must resist!" But his voice was quickly interrupted by gunfire outside the window. It was a warning shot; bullets grazed the flags on the roof and left deep bullet marks on the walls.

Victor was watching Gonzalez's roar on TV, his fingertips tapping lightly on the table, when Casare pushed open the door and came in, his face grave: "The Spanish army has taken control of the main intersections in Barcelona, ​​countries are beginning to express their support for Spain in upholding its sovereignty, and protesters have gathered outside our embassy."

Victor picked up the remote and turned off the TV. "Control? Does he think tanks can stitch a torn country back together?" He walked to the map, his fingertip pointing to the Strait of Gibraltar. "Tell our representatives in the Alliance of Latin American Nations that it's time to discuss an energy embargo against Spain, as for González's accusations..."

He turned to look at Casare, a hint of amusement in his eyes: "Have the Ministry of Foreign Affairs issue a statement saying that Mexico has always respected the sovereignty of all countries and suggests that the Spanish government exercise restraint and listen to the voices of the people. The more grandiose the statement is, the more angry he will be."

Casare had just sent out a draft statement when it was published on the government website.

Less than half an hour later.

The office telephone rang urgently.

He answered the phone, and immediately the EU's diplomatic representative's voice, barely containing his anger, came through the receiver: "Mr. Victor, the Mexican Foreign Ministry's statement is adding fuel to the fire! The EU Council has reached a consensus to establish a special task force to investigate your country's interference in Spain's internal affairs, and the possibility of taking restrictive trade measures cannot be ruled out."

“Restrictive trade measures?” Victor chuckled, his fingertips tapping rhythmically on the table. “When the Spanish colonists traded our gold and silver with firearms and plague, why didn’t the wise men of Brussels think of setting rules?”

He paused, then said, “Tell those gentlemen sitting in Gothic buildings that the customs seals of Latin American countries carry more weight than medieval parchment treaties. Let them wait!”

He then slammed the phone down.

The moment the call ended, Casare burst through the door, clutching an encrypted telegram: "Boss, news from Brazil: the anti-narcotics special forces seized three tons of cocaine in the Amazon. The transport ship's registration information points to a shell company in Panama, but the ship's satellite phone records show that the most recent communication contact was a fishing radio station in the Canary Islands, Spain."

Victor walked up to the huge Latin American map and pointed his finger heavily at the mouth of the Amazon River in Brazil: "They've come after all. The Spanish can't do anything to us, so they want to break through Brazil. The anti-drug campaign has taken away too many people's interests. Those drug lords who launder money in Europe are definitely happy to use Spain to create trouble for Brazil."

“Should we remind the Brazilian side?” Casare asked.

"Not only should we remind them, but we should also give them a big gift."

Victor turned and took a document from the safe. "This is a list intercepted by Mexican intelligence, containing information on accounts used by several European banks to launder money for Colombian rebels. The largest shareholders of three of these accounts are companies controlled by the Spanish royal family. Have the Brazilian Foreign Ministry leak this list to Interpol, claiming it was found during a drug bust." He sneered. "I want to see how those European politicians who shout about fighting drug crimes explain the close relationship between their own banks and drug traffickers."

Casare's fingertips were burning hot when he took the documents.

Encrypted radio waves pierced the Atlantic night, delivering the list stained with black gold to Brasilia. Three days later, Interpol's red notices were plastered all over European airports. The president of a century-old bank in Madrid was suddenly taken away from a press conference, and under the flashing lights, half of a medal of honor awarded by the Spanish royal family was visible in his suit pocket.

González watched the chaotic scenes on television and smashed an antique vase in his office. The fisheries radio station in the Canary Islands had been shut down, but the sound of anti-drug gunfire on the Amazon River still echoed, like slaps to the face of the Spanish government trying to divert attention.

It made him very embarrassed.

Neither inside nor outside are people.

Inside the National Palace in Mexico City, Victor raised his glass to a map, the moonlight streaming through the window across the outline of Latin America, reflecting a vast ocean in his eyes.

The storm in the Atlantic was only just beginning to stir up trouble!

……

(End of this chapter)