“My dear Guillermo, you’re forgetting what I told you. In my line of work, nothing is strictly personal. Can I get you another rum and Coke?” He signals to his chauffeur who is monitoring screens from across the room. He looks vaguely familiar. Was he the man who was sitting in the Hyundai at the Centro Vasco that rainy afternoon?
“So you must have known that Maryam and I were having an affair.”
Miguel grows silent. He adjusts his blue silk tie that has swordfish knitted into it. “I don’t know the particulars about your romance, but I do know the exact date when your affair began—”
“Your driver was tailing me.” Guillermo is embarrassed.
Miguel puts his hand on Guillermo’s. He has beautiful hands: long fingers, scant black hair on his knuckles. They are the facilitator’s loveliest features.
“How much do you know about me?”
Miguel keeps his hand still. “I know that many men would admire you for your dalliances. I know when, with whom, in which room, and exactly how many times you had sex with your different lovers at the Best Western Stofella. And I know about the apartment you rented in the Plazuela España.”
Guillermo pulls his hand away, as if he has been burned by hot metal. He feels crushed, discovered, found out, revealed, standing naked with his pants down at his feet. To think that someone knew about the Stofella, the apartment in the Plazuela España.
“What about my texts?”
“We intercepted some.”
“Some? Just some? And were there hidden cameras and microphones when Maryam and I made love?”
“Guillermo, you were the one who insisted on having the same room at the Stofella.”
“Oh my God! I could kill you.”
“Instead of looking so upset, Guillermo, you should be pleased that I respected you enough all these years to consider you both worthy of my pursuit and deserving of my silence.”
“Araceli?”
“Araceli, Sofia, Isabel, and even Micaela, though you only slept with her twice.” Miguel says this matter-of-factly.
Guillermo doesn’t know how to respond. “Why were you investigating me?”
“I already told you: you were a person of interest. I have thousands of dossiers.”
“Do my political views matter to you?”
“Not at all. I don’t believe in politics. I dislike the president, not necessarily because of his policies, but because of his inefficiencies. He contaminates the air we breathe with his coal plant while I prefer nuclear energy. I believe we have an obligation to release less waste into the atmosphere.”
Guillermo cannot believe what he’s hearing. He can’t get a word out.
“You know that the 1996 Peace Accords were a sham. This brought no peace, only opened the gate for Guatemala’s homegrown maras to prosper, and for bloodthirsty Mexican drug dealers to buy out our police department. Now the generals and the former guerrillas can congratulate themselves for having negotiated peace, when all they agreed on was to split the foreign aid that came pouring in to help us achieve democracy.”
“Miguel, I wish you would just shut up. I told you I don’t care what you believe in.”
“But you should.”
“Okay, so where did you stand during the armed conflict?”
“Where I have always stood: on the side of order.”
“And what’s your attitude toward money?”
“Well, it is a very attractive and useful commodity. I would even go so far to claim that it, more than religion, motivates human action.”
“And do you work for the president?”
“I dislike his inefficiencies. I already told you that. Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course I am.” Unprompted, Miguel’s driver delivers Guillermo another drink. He takes two huge gulps as if it was only Coca-Cola.
Miguel taps the arms of his chair. “The president and I are presently feuding, but that could change any second, depending on the decisions he makes.”
“What do you mean?”
“He presents himself as incorruptible and above temptation. He conveys a smug and superior attitude when we all know that he, his wife, and her cohorts are robbing this country blind. If he were to acknowledge his humanity, all would be forgiven.”
“Humanity? What a strange choice of words. Don’t you mean that if he were willing to share the wealth with you and your associates, you would reconsider your attacks against him?”
“As I said before, he is like the rest of us: not above temptation.”
Guillermo is shocked. He feels he is suddenly in deep water without a lifesaver. “And who else are your enemies?”
Miguel looks at him suspiciously.
“I ask you this only to understand your point of view better.”
Miguel leans back in his chair. “Well, I am not a big fan of Ignacio Balicar. Or Mayor Aroz, who is making himself a billionaire by buying up all the real estate downtown so he can convert the whole area into a commercial Disneyland — that only he will own. I believe in sharing the wealth.”
“So what do you want from me, Miguel?” Guillermo asks, exhausted.
“For the moment I only need your trust and devotion. Everything else will fall into place. In time you will see what I mean.”
chapter twenty-two. the mastermind, maybe
This last conversation convinces Guillermo that the facilitator not only has great power but even greater fluidity. Because of his dozens, perhaps hundreds of connections, Miguel has access to information that Guillermo can only dream of. The only territory Miguel cannot penetrate is his mind. Guillermo decides to be more cautious with this man. He realizes he is likely in mortal danger and if he is to survive, he has to learn restraint. The problem is that, though he knows he can survive, he isn’t sure he wants to.
Each day that passes makes him realize more and more that Maryam is gone and not coming back, that without her he is nothing, not even a shadow. He is barely alive. He tries to keep in touch with his children, more for his sake than theirs, but it’s obvious they really don’t need him. Their great uncle has filled the vacuum of the absent father. Rosa Esther’s uncle has the wealth as well as the emotional commitment to welcome them with open arms into his family.
If Ilán and Andrea were living in Guatemala, perhaps proximity would allow him the chance to rekindle their affection for him. As it is, hundreds of miles apart, his love for them is superfluous, totally expendable. He talks to them as if insulated by glass, and they are disinterested in having normal conversations with him about swimming or dance or soccer because they recognize he is not there for them.
He is alone and lonely and staring down a deep, bottomless hole. At some point he makes an appointment with his doctor to get a prescription for antidepressants. Dr. Madrid does a full examination and tells him he is in good physical shape for a man nearing fifty years of age, despite having high blood pressure. Guillermo confesses that he is drinking a lot and sleeping very little. He has panic attacks that increase his level of anxiety — that’s what he wants the doctor to address.
Dr. Madrid prescribes a thirty-pill bottle of Ambien to help him sleep. He also prescribes Cymbalta, a new-generation drug similar to Prozac that will prevent suicidal impulses. He warns Guillermo not to mix these drugs with alcohol because he could provoke a stroke that could lead to temporary or permanent paralysis, or worse.
Guillermo nods, though he is not sure he can stop drinking. He is sliding down a greased hill without brakes. The jury is still out regarding his desire to live.
* * *
Nonetheless, Guillermo Rosensweig is not as simple-minded as Miguel Paredes might think. He has lied to the great facilitator: he does have a folder with copies of the documents that Ibrahim had shown him — they are locked in his apartment desk. One night, with all the lights off, he opens the drawer, takes out the folder, and places it at the bottom of his gym bag, which he covers with dirty socks. He is afraid to look at the documents either in his office or in his own apartment because he suspects that Miguel has both under surveillance. Microscopic cameras, sensors, and microphones have been planted everywhere, on the corners of walls, in the crevices, in keyholes. He is sure of it. His degree of mistrust grows when he receives phone calls in which he can’t hear the caller, or the caller hangs up — he is sure that Miguel’s henchmen are monitoring his whereabouts, trying to unnerve or panic him so he will do something desperate.