Primavera en la Selva

[Natal]

Naccos, south-western fringes of Estado de Sipe Sipe

Mango Maduro was a small, mangy and scabby pub in the small settlement of Naccos, situated deep in the Selva where the great Madre de Dios River entered the country and followed the border with Tapenaga up until it flows in the Gulf of Cassiopeia. It's wooden walls, darkened by decades of smoking inside were reeking of tobacco, alcohol and the sweat and breath of so many workers that have crossed its threshold for a quick drink and a greasy meal after a shift. A slow, lamenting romance was played at a small hi-fi system at the bar, that was usually covered by the ambient noise of men and women drinking and chatting away in the warm evening.

Sebastian Costa was a man in his early 30s, with a fashionable haircut and a close trimmed beard, wearing a floral shirt and khaki chino trousers, with sunglasses which he was letting them fall on his nose, so as to see above them, without needing to actually take them off in the quite dimly lit establishment. Compared to everyone else inside the pub, he looked out of place, a city boy, or even worse, for the people of the Selva, a Montanero from the Sierra Dorada. He looked like he was teleported from some of Gallo-Germania's biggest tourist spots into the remotest parts of Entre Rios. The corners of his mouth were lowered, slightly showing his disgust for his environment. Immediately after he entered the pub, he first scanned the room and when he didn't see anyone recognisable, his face turned into an open disgust. He went first to the bar:

"Amigo, change the song to something more cheery. It feels like dying in here!" he yelled at the barman. At first the other person didn't responded as he was preparing a drink for a different customer. "Hey!" he shouted and hit the bar. When he saw him, the barman's face turned white. "I asked you to change the fucking music!" said Costa in a rasp, stern voice. "Sí señor, immediately..." said the barman with a low, humble and meek voice as he recognised Sebastian Costa. He went to the hi-fi system and replaced the previous CD with a different one, "Cumbia Roots" being written in a funky font on its cover. "And give me a Pisco bottle too," said Costa as he threw a 100 Quris note to the barman for the drink that cost 60 and immediately left as he received the bottle and a glass.

Sebastian went to a table close to the wall on the opposite side of the entrance and growled a bit, showing his discontent. He poured the grapey distillate in the glass and sipped, enjoying the flavour of the grapes from the Pampa, on the foothills of the Sierra Dorada, far away from this humid, tropical hellhole. The barman came again with a plate with a big carimanola, a fritter made of cassava and filled with mushy plantains, and left immediately after he muttered "on the house". Immediately as he left, Sebastian finally recognised the man he was waiting for, entering. As they made eye contact, the other man's face went a bit pale and he rushed to his table.

"Discúlpeme señor, I don't know what happened... there was an emmergency... I..." the man started muttering and apologising. "You fucking live in Naccos, malparido, how is it possible that I come all the way from Patacamaya and I arrive on time and you can't even fucking cross the street without being late?" Sebastian started screaming at him, as the man was continuing to apologise. As he calmed down and the man was still muttering, he took a knife that he had in his pocket and launched himself at the plate, a move that made the other man nearly squeal. "Calm the fuck down, Marco..." muttered Sebastian annoyed again, as he went towards the carimanola and cut it in two, offering him a half and then gesturing to the barman to bring another glass.

For the other man, Marco Gaona, this whole meeting was quite stressful. A mestizo from a criollo mother from Santa Cruz, disinherited because she eloped and had him and an indigenous father from Naccos, he lived quite a rough childhood in his hometown and in the bigger city of Sipe Sipe, where his father sent him to a boarding school. Being away offered him a chance to taste the gang life of the state's capital and since then he pretty much became one of the thugs of the small time gangsters from there, always hoping to earn enough money to leave for the pampas or the coast. When he started working for Sebastian Costa he thought that he managed to grab God by his heel, but he soon learned that it is best to not disappoint Costa as he is as generous in punishment as he is in rewards.

"I have talked with some of my... investors..." said Sebastian after he took a big bite out of the carimanola and then washed it down with pisco. "Considering the current state of Estado Sipe Sipe, they actually feel that the region of Naccos might be actually quite good for our endeavours, so they really liked your recommendation. Just imagine. The forestry industry will be booming here very soon, then the building one, as we will word to drain this shitty swamp and then the agricultural and processing one, after which we can retire, rich and feeling good as we have done more for this community than the state did in like what... three or four centuries?" he continued, feeling very proud of himself.

"There is still an issue, señor" said Marco slowly. "What? The civic boys? Nah, those are the easiest ones to deal with," Sebastian quickly responded. "No, I mean the locals," Marco continued. "What? the Yanacona? They aren't targeting us with the audience to the government, we haven't even started and if that guy, chief ... what's his name... Amaru makes us problems, we can solve him too, as knowing the Yanacona, are are probably a dozen of pretenders wanting to take his place," Sebastian responded again, interrupting Marco. "No, señor, I mean the locals as in the local groups. Chief Sumak Asto y Amaru went to Santa Cruz to call them out in front of the Consul. He wages his war against them, but they won't be liking us as newcomers to their own turf," said Marco. "This is where you come to play, mi pequeño amigo. I will provide you with the necessary tools and some helpers and what I want to do is to show the local gangs that we are here to stay and that we will actually be the big names in this shit hole of a state," said Sebastian with a smile on his face as he finished the carimanola and poured again pisco in his glass.

"They are quite independent, but the biggest name of them all is Martin Bienvenida. He is a smuggler from Ciudad de Sipe Sipe, pretty much smuggling everything he can from Entre Rios into Tapenaga and back. He has some guys on his payrolls," said Marco. "Then he is the guy we need to take care first, so that the others will just cower, " concluded Sebastian.

 

[Natal]

Ciudad de Sipe Sipe, central Estado de Sipe Sipe

The city of Sipe Sipe, could be described as being grey and sad, if not for the strong green colour of the Selva and the colourful tropical plants that were growing around and within it. It was first built by the Yanacona people in the mid 10th century, with the old town still being surrounded by the old wall. It grew in two main waves, a first one of Aurarian colonialism in the late 17th century and a second one in the late 19th and up to mid 20th century, when there was an industrialisation boom. Up until the early 1970s, the old town of Sipe Sipe was surrounded by a shanty town, or in Entrerriano terms, a villa miseria, which was cleared up by the early governments of the Civic Process and replaced with working class neighbourhoods, with four up to eight story high apartment blocks. The problems for the city came again and more and more people started moving to the Pampas and the Coast in search for better opportunities, especially after the economic boom and explosion of the Free Zones created in 1997, leaving behind entire buildings where only one out of ten or more apartments were still inhabited and the losing about two thirds of its population, from 150,000 inhabitants at its greatest, to now only a little under 60,000.

The shiny black SUV with which Sebastian and three of his associates, including Marcos, was all muddy and dirty from the bad roads that went through the Selva, from such an isolated settlement like Naccos, to Sipe Sipe. "They are usually hanging out in one of the old estates, built by the government and now pretty much abandoned," said Marcos as he drove the car from the city's Calle 9, its main boulevard into one of the small streets, with grey 4 story high apartment buildings. From the front passenger's seat, Sebastian could see that some windows were broken, clearly showing that they were abandoned and left in the fate of the elements, especially the overly humid and hot climate of the deep interior of Entre Rios, while others were still inhabited, easily seen by the colourful clothes put up to dry. "What the fuck happened here?" Sebastian muttered. But the question remained unanswered, as it was either rhetorical or for the locals in the car, maybe too hurtful to answer.

The SUV entered into a small parking lot, surrounded on three side sides by a grey apartment building that was once white, nearly all covered in ivy. Sebastian looked at a group of about ten men sitting on the hoods of the cars parked there, some smoking, others sipping what might have been beers, but all concentrated on some sort of story the guy in the middle of it all was telling. They were all wearing baggy and slimy clothes, which were probably permanently wet by the rains and sweat that were pouring down permanently on this side of the world. Sebastian scoffed in disgust, imagining how much the men would probably reek. "Those?" he asked Marcos, more disappointed than anything. "Those cunts up there, who look like... that... are the big names of the Sipe Sipe underworld?" he asked again, this time literally bursting into laughter. "Señor, I told you, they were big names and rich by Sipe Sipe standards, but those standards are low.... like... I think that it's not even considered middle class in the pampas or the coast," Marcos responded quickly, as he was preparing to park the car. "Not in a parking lot. Just stop it in front of them," said Sebastian. The car stopped with a short break right in front of the group, attracting the men's attention.

Sebastian made eye contact with the guy in the centre of the group gave him an indolent smile and then opened the door. "Who the fuck are you?" he immediately heard the first question. "My name is Sebastian Tomaso Costa Garrido, who asks?" said Sebastian as he closed the car's door while hiding a pistol behind his back, while adjusting his sunglasses. The man the centre of the group, rose from the car's hood and slowly approached him. "My name is Martin Bienvenida Prats, what do you want, montañero?" responded the other man, showing his disgust as he nearly barked the last word. "I have come with a business proposal and an offer for employment for you," said Sebastian, smiling to the man, but his smile quickly turned into a disgusted frown as the man in front of him started laughing. "Let's listen to him at least, patron," said one of the men that still stood on the cars' hood, towards Bienvenida, but his boss ignored him.

"Listen here, montañero, I know who you are. You reek like a fanciful haciendado from a mile away. This isn't your place. I know that the Costa family owns Hacienda Villa Blanca, up in the pampas, growing the best tobacco on this side of the world. You see... I travelled the country and the world in my line of work and I have seen it, and I can see you too. You are only a shitty, rich cunt that lived life so well that he got bored of it and came here in the Selva, to get an adrenaline rush and to look at us like we are a zoo exhibit. I don't care about your shitty proposals, nor your delusions of grandeur, fuck off," said Martin Bienvenida finishing the last phrase by poking and pushing Sebastian Costa. When he saw the whole scene, Marco, who was sitting out of the car, with his hand on a short knife, ready for anything, could do nothing but mutter an "oh, no..." and readied himself for what might follow.

Sebastian took his sunglasses and hanged them by the upmost button of his floral shirt and smirked towards Martin. "You do are an arrogant man, señor Bienvenida... I must say that I don't really feel much bienvenido here, especially when I came as a friend to you. But what can a man do... You know... my deal would have made you rich. Enough so you can change those reeking and soggy clothes and live far away from this misery, but it seems that you enjoy smuggling old TVs and electronics and some shitty cigarettes to the shittiest country of them all in this hemisphere, Tapenaga. Just don't come crying when all your associates will come running to me, instead of preferring to keep the status quo, to work a lot for a shitty radio and enough money for only a meal or two a day," said Sebastian with a smile on his face. The lack of ambition in what was supposed to be the big shot of this town really amused him and he was ready to just push him away and offer to employ the other guys, but Bienvenida's laughter caught him a bit off guard.

"You think you are so special? You are not the first montañero to come and do this, thinking that we are ready to jump and kiss his feet. Let me be clear. This city is mine. This region is mine. You can fuck off..." said Bienvenida growling afterwards and he immediately took out a shiv, in his right hand. Sebastian finally saw this as his change. Now, in front of all the others, the negotiations were over and he had the right to be offended. He quickly headbutted Martin Bienvenida, making him collapse before the other had any chance to react. In the fall, Martin dropped the shiv and quickly, Sebastian took out his pistol from his back and shot Bienvenida in the head, killing him. Marco and the other two associates were shocked. Marco froze and for the first time, he felt that a red line has been passed and that Sebastiano might be clearly changing all the rules of the game of the criminal underworld of Entre Rios. For a fraction of a second he panicked towards where this might lead him too, before he got his composure back.

The other men that were sitting on the hoods of the cars, talking at first with Martin Bienvenida ran away, panicked, with the exception of one that simply froze at the whole scene. Sebastian approached him and looked at him closer. It was a young mestizo guy, probably in his mid 20s, the same guy that asked Bienvenida to listen to Sebastian's proposal. "What's your name, boy?" asked Sebastian. "C... C... Ca... Carlos ... X... Xirau," said the other, still in shock, stuttering. Sebastian took the guy's chin in his hand and pushed his head up to make eye contact. "You know now who I am. If you still want to hear my proposition and you want to get rich, tell the others in the city to meet me, for there is a great chance for you all to escape this shithole," said Sebastian smiling.

 

[Natal]

Naccos, Estado de Sipe Sipe
Early January, 2020

Mango Maduro was again filled with people as the evening came and workers from the sawmills finished their shifts. The biggest bar in the village of Naccos, it sometimes turned into some sort of social centre too. Workers would bring their wives and kids to it and you could easily spot here and there a kid, falling asleep on a sofa, while the parents were drinking and playing cards. The quite gloomy atmosphere of a tired people, tired from work but also tired of their poverty, of their status, resigned that the only good thing the government under the regime can do to you is to ignore you, was broken by the joyous sounds of the cumbia playing on the sound system, covering the loud voices of about 100 people talking. Besides all this, a man with a floral shirt, seemingly enjoying himself, yet frowning every time he looked at the time on his phone, was sitting in the back, together with his trusty companion.

"Being late... is this like some sort of cultural value of you... Sipe Sipe... Sipe Sipans... Sipe Sipeans?" asked Sebastian Costa, slightly growling while playing with his sunglasses with one hand, before taking a sip of the wine brought specially to him by the barman. "I think it's Sipenero, but yeah, being given a specific time to meet, isn't that much respected here. People see it more like a guide around which time to come, rather than exactly then," Marcos, his companion and paid guard said before he too took a sip from his glass of wine. Sebastian took out his packet of cigarettes and lit one up, after which he offered Marcos one too. This was a sign he was in not only good mood, but in an exceptional one. He never shared his cigarettes. "You know, Marcos... if we managed to do this..." he stopped a bit to puff a smoke, "I will say that in six months tops, we will be in Santa Cruz, smoking a nice and fancy Vaquero cigar, enjoying the view of the Catatungo flowing..." he stopped again to take another puff, "... ah, the good life..." he finish with a sigh. Marcos couldn't respond as his attention has turned to the group of men that just entered the pub and came to their table.

Sebastian rose and greeted most of them, addressing them as senores, with the exception of a young man in his mid 20s that he remembered from his previous trip to Ciudad de Sipe Sipe. "Carlos Xirau, how are you, my friend?" he asked patting him on the shoulder and then tenderly touching his cheek, before moving to greet the others. After he finished he gestured to the barman to bring them some more chairs and some more to drink.

"Gentlemen, you might have heard of me, after the last incident," Sebastian started, after the barman brought three bottles of pisco to the table and glasses for everyone. "Might have heard? The whole country heard. It even appeared in El Mundo, in the federal newspaper. Funny that they presented that cunt Bienvenida as some sort of victim, but still,"an older criollo man, in his mid 60s, with a bushy grey beard and a big bald patch muttered. "Well, he was..." someone in the behind him responded back. "Doesn't matter, he fuckin' deserved it... that cabron!" the old man growled. "Sirs, can we please concentrate on the matter at hand?" Carlos Xirau intervened, covering the grumbling of the others. As the group fell silent, him and Sebastian shared a smile and the latter gave him a wink that Marcos observed, but didn't really care of it. "My name, gentlemen, is Sebastian Costa. I am, like you, a business man. My family works a patch of land up in the pampas to harvest tobacco for generations, you might have heard of it, Hacienda Villa Blanca. But, as a business man, I understand the need to future proof my business and with technology evolving, what will Villa Blanca be in if the future they will be able to grow tobacco in even the most frigid lands, in greenhouses? That's why I want to expand my business and I want you to join me," as he was talking, Sebastian started pouring each of the men pisco into their glasses. "Senor Pedro Ros," continued Sebastian, pointing to the old man that talked before, " you are in the marble business. Look at the marble quarries from Sierra Dorada. How much will it be until Friulian or Gallo-Germanian investors will actually push you away from the market? You are lucky, you work in the southern mountains, but if the free economic zones are as successful as El Mundo says, what will stop the government from opening the whole country up? You need to future proof yourself and your business too," Sebastian said. "And how would I do that?" the old man growled with an extremely sceptical tone.

"With this," said Sebastian as he took our small plastic pouches holding a few grams each of a white dust. While never being told exactly what Sebastian's business is, Marcos thought that it might be something drug related, though everything in himself hoped it would have been just some illegal forestry, a daily thing in Sipe Sipe. But now, looking at the white powder he froze, his mind recreating the scene in Ciudad de Sipe Sipe when Sebastian shot Martin Bienvenida. The red line. He started thinking that he might still have a chance to leave this all behind, but a part of him, knew that there was no other way for quick money and he really needed it for his family. The atmosphere in the pub continued like normal, as the people who were in it knew that as long as Sebastian was in there, they should just do their best to ignore whatever is happening, or if they can't, to leave. Many did the latter, but there were still a few drunkards on the other side of the room and the cumbias were still playing on the audio system. "What's this? Cocaine? It's not very revolutionary..." said Pedro Ros. "It is cocaine, but it's a special type. It's not your freebase or your crack that you might be used too. This one is extremely pure and refined. I have a friend in Himyar, down in Azraq or Loago or some shithole like that who managed to isolate this one and tried it. Said it felt tenfold better. It's the perfect prduct. It creates it's own demand as it gives an even stronger dependence than your usual one. He named it Equatorial Snow, but I preferred to use to term Flour for it, as it's as silky as that," said Sebastian. "You can try those samples if you don't believe me. Normal cocaine is sold between 60 to 80 Euromarks in Gallo-Germania and about 35-50 per gram in Santa Cruz. Just think of this one, how desperate people would get put lay their hands on it," he continued.

"But to get the real money, you don't need to waste them by paying a producer or to ship it from Himyar, you need to make it yourself and to set up a lab you need money," said Pedro Ros. "That's why I invited you here. I can bring about half the necessary money, but I want to invite you to invest in it and the same percentage you came with, will return back to you from every sale, if not more," said Sebastian.

The other men started talking and making lists and calculations. It was clear for Sebastian that he managed to convince the most pessimistic of them, by playing the card of Friulian and Eiffellander investment, but now, he will let Pedro Ros do his magic and use his prestige to influence the others. It was time now for Sebastian and Marcos to step back. Carlos Xirau came to them. "You will need to keep the money away from Hacienda Villa Blanca, as the government can tie you and your family's business to it. How will you get the money?" he asked. "Oh, guapo, I have everything sorted out," Sebastian said resting again his hand on his shoulder then caressing his neck and jawline. "We're in the Selva, where extremely expensive tropical wood is everywhere. I wouldn't have stayed here drenched in sweat if it wasn't for that. Above all that, we're in Sipe Sipe, the nation's capital of illegal forestry. I have my connections in the local government. The plan is simple: bribe them to turn their eyes from a patch of land filled with teak and mahogany, that we will cut down. Let the stumps flow down the Madre de Dios river into Tapenaga, where we will sell them on the black market and get the money, and then to cover our tracks, we will bet up a wildfire to burn away the stumps from the cutting. Simple as that," said Sebastian, proud of his plan, smiling as he looked into the eyes of the other man. Marcos cleared his throat to show his discomfort.

 

[Natal]

Lake Herrera, 70km east of Carabuco, Estado Suarez
Present Day

The stony beaches of the Lake Herrera, the smaller of the lowland lakes from central Entre Rios, were a prime spot for many of the country's amateur anglers and fishermen. Today was a cloudy day and many preferred to stay away from the lake, with the exception of two men, one was the younger, in his early 30s, Adrian Moruga, a lieutenant colonel in the National Army, a criollo man from Santa Cruz, one of the few Entrerrianos with light brown hair, and a scar starting from his forehead going over his left eye and ending at his left cheekbone, a memory of an accident when he was a cadet starting academy and a pistol exploded in his hand. The other one, was older, in his mid 60s, with already greyed out hair, was Orlando Pardo, a member of the Asamblea Federal, one of the leaders of the Workers' Party, the Pardio de Trabajadores.

In the SUV car that Moruga drove from Santa Cruz to here, the two of them left their bags with the fishing supplies, while taking out and preparing their rods. "They guys back at the barrack will think that I'm some sort of fishing freak," mumbled Moruga. "That's your fault for choosing a weird activity, I for one am known for my angling skills, even won prizes in it," said Pardo laughing. As Pardo was preparing the bait and the hooks, Moruga sent to rent one of the fishing boats to go on the lake. When ready, the two took the two rods, the fishing supplies and set sail towards a relatively good distance from the shore.

"Got the phone with you?" asked Moruga. Pardo took out his phone from his pocket. Moruga took it and took out the battery of the phone. "You?" asked Pardo. "Left it in the car. In the new models you can't take the back off to take the battery out," explained the Moruga. Pardo put a worm in his fishing rod's hook and launched it, waiting for the other to do the same. "Come on, we need to keep the appearances," he encouraged him, but when he saw that the soldier was not good at handling it, he took it and launched the hook himself.

"Ok, now it's time for business," said Pardo. "Good. So, I have talked with some of my associates and the general view is that many would actually want to see things return to normal and end the Civic Process. Maybe, as a civilian politician, it may be surprising to you, but we're not in the Vaquero Free State. The military isn't exactly some sort of a privileged class. We lost much of the influence when General Rocha died. The men don't really understand why the regime still lingers when now there's peace and stability. No internal struggles, no foreign invasions, no great communist threat and the only corruption that exists comes from the Civic Process itself, rather than the by now mythical 'corrupt pluripartidic system'. It's just that everyone feels that the time for chance has arrived. What about in your zone?" said Moruga. Before responding, Pardo looked around as if to check if anyone overhears them, but the lake was still and there was only one other boat, so far away that one could barely see it. Even so, he spoke in a soft, low voice.

"The Chairman of the Partido de los Trabajadores, Amilcar Garcia is in full support and we have been in talks with the leader of the Partido Verde, Sabina Iniesta and with Enrique Cortez of the Partido Popular Unido. Iniesta is more problematic to work with, as she is quite bossy and a bit authoritarian, of course I had to promise her the consulate, should we succeed, but the others are supportive. Much of our electoral support comes from the descamisandos, as you know and as much as El Mundo wanted to praise the regime for the investments they managed to get from Eiffelland and Friuli, they only annoyed the people as they all know they won't actually be enjoying this much elusive growth. The Syndicato Vertical must be taken down as it's more like a tool for the corporatist economy to actually exploit the workers rather than defend them. I don't know if you know, but down in the central meseta there have been some things going on... up to the point in which two representatives of the Syndicato Vertical were assassinated. It's actually not hard to understand why..." said Pardo, then took a sip of water from the bottle they had. In the meantime, Moruga took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one and then gave Pardo one too.

"The vertical syndicate... what a fucking shitshow... I had a new recruit whom has received a wrong size uniform. The boots were the main problem, three numbers smaller. The boy went to the warehouse to get new ones, the guy there told him to file a request at the vertical syndicate and the guy at the syndicate told him to just sculpt his feet so they will fit the boots...fucking animals..." said Moruga annoyed. "The boy in the end had to bribe the guy at the warehouse to give him the correct size... for fuck's sake," he completed the story, even more annoyed.

"Like I said..." continued Pardo, returning back to the subject. "I have talked to all, but the members of Partido Azul or the Partido Democratico Nacional," said Pardo. "Very well. The Blue boys need to disappear, while the national democrats don't have a backbone and are very slippery, I'd rather have them in front of me as my enemies than behind me as allies which will surely stab me in the back," said Moruga puffing on his cigarette. "Auraria fell... five years ago even... It's about high time those remnant regimes fall too..." he continued thoughtfully, but the move of a fishing rod interrupted him. Pardo rose up, but in his excitement, moved the boat too much and nearly fell from it. He took the fishing rod and tried to capture the fish but after about three minutes, it was clear that whatever it was, it escaped. Moruga shook his head, visibly amused. "We do need to keep up this ploy and what angler would I be if I wouldn't get excited by it?" Pardo excused himself, laughing. Only then he observed that he dropped the cigarette in the lake.

"So, like I said I come with two options. Independence Day is coming soon and everyone knows that the Consul gives a state of the nation address in the assembly. I want that to be the high point of our plan A... Anaconda," Pardo continued, but stopped as Moruga offered him a second cigarette. "The consul's wife, Octavia Campos, a lovely lady, really into charity is bombarded on a daily basis by shit talk against the regime and she kinda knows where we stand as a nation and knows how the discamisandos live, so I am sure that Roberto Campos knows too. I will actually just want to give him a heads up, with the hopes that he will accept not forming the Civic Front after the next elections," said Pardo proud of himself, but Moruga's sceptical but bemused face turned him off. "So you want to ask nicely for him to end the dictatorship?" Moruga asked.

"Well, it's more complicated than that. That's where plan B... from... Beneficio..." Pardo continued but was interrupted. "I'd go for Babuino," smirked Moruga. "Like I said, part B starts when he declines our offer in plan A and we will take him down, within the continutional limits. We have the supporters from the three parties and we can even bring it down in parliament. The problem is that elections will come soon and that might change the current composition and we might lose this majority," said Pardo. "Yeah, idiots might vote for Partido Azul more as they will probably eat the shitty propaganda spewed by El Mundo," grumbled Moruga.

"That's why, if both plan Anaconda and plan Babuino fail, comes plan C... which is yours," said Pardo. "Plan C from... Canario... yeah will mean that we will mobilise our associates and will take control of Santa Cruz and for Campos to resign. The problem is, if we end up as far as plan C, we might end up in a very bad situation, with like civil war, disinvestment, instability and we're back not only to square 1, but to square 1968... fucking hell," Moruga said annoyed. "That's why we need to keep it civil... and civilian," said Pardo.

"Ok, so my idea is this. We won't wait for plans A, B or C to fail in order to prepare them. You need to make Campos understand that he can choose between him dismantling his dictatorship and him ending his career as a hero to the people or some shit like that, or if not you will activate plan B. I will be with you when we start the operation. In case he gets a bit too rowdy, I will activate plan C, because that will offer a quick end to it all. But before all that we will need to take control of the headquarters of Antena 1, to be sure that if he gives his state of the nation address and announces the end of the dictatorship, he calls out the coup and calls people to his defence, we can cut him out," said Moruga thinking of it. "Yeah, that can work. It might sound weird, but we should offer him a good retirement pension, to aid him in taking the right decision," said Pardo. "Yeah, that's a given. I do think it might end well," said Moruga smiling.

"There is one more problem," said Pardo as he finished his cirgarette and extinguished the bud from the boat's wood. "It's a request from our potential future boss, Sabina Iniesta. Have you heard about the wildfires in Sipe Sipe?" asked Pardo. "Yeah, what about them?" asked Moruga as he took a sip of water from the bottle. "The Partido Verde has a fear that it might be more than just a wildfire. It is as of yet the biggest fire ever and beneath it, Iniesta fears that it might be the biggest cartel that works in illegal forestry. She asks you to influence the police in such a way that you have someone you trust lead the investigation," said Pardo. Moruga was a bit taken by surprise by it, "I'll see what I can do," he said, but he clearly didn't care about it as Independence Day was approaching and there was a lot to do.