Alarcón's hand was trembling.
"Mr. Victor... regarding your ultimatum..."
Victor said nothing.
Alarcón took a deep breath.
"We... we are willing to hand over the murderer. Willing to apologize. Willing to compensate. But we need time—those killers, they have backing, we need time to capture them..."
Victor interrupted him.
"Mr. President, you have ten minutes left."
Alarcón was stunned.
"Ten minutes for what?"
The other end of the phone was silent for a few seconds.
"In ten minutes, my troops will enter Ecuadorian territory."
Alarcón's hand shook violently, and the phone nearly fell to the ground.
"Mr. Victor, you can't—"
"I can."
The call ended.
Alarcón stood there dazed, the busy tone buzzing in the receiver.
February 9, 1998, 5:00 AM.
At the border, the first brigade's armored vehicles started up.
Garcia stood in the command vehicle, looking at the invisible line ahead.
"Full speed ahead."
The convoy crossed the border line.
