David Unger - The Mastermind

Guillermo stares into his now-empty glass. “You’re crazy! No one would take my word over the president’s. Ibrahim Khalil believed he could bring him down — see where that got him? Killed, and he and his wife are still roaming around free. No thank you. I’d be dying in vain.”

“If we plan this thing correctly, we could bring down the government — the whole house of cards.”

“You’re dreaming, Miguel.”

There is a pause. For some weird reason Guillermo thinks of Carlos, who worked with his father at La Candelaria. He hasn’t thought of him in twenty years. But at this very moment Guillermo wonders if he is still alive. He was such a loyal employee — maybe he thought that one day he would inherit the lamp store and that’s why he was so devoted. Guillermo should try and contact him. When he awakes from his reverie, he sees Miguel looking dead at him.

“What?”

“ What what?”

“Why are you staring at me in that way?”

“I want you to know something: what I am thinking is not a dream.”

“What would you have me do?”

“I’ll explain, but it requires bravery.”

Guillermo peers at Miguel through glassy eyes.

“I think we should make a video.”

Guillermo picks up his nearly empty glass and runs his tongue along the rim, fishing for the remaining drops of rum. Suddenly he feels Miguel’s hand on his wrist.

“Listen to me!”

Guillermo ignores his spinning head and puts his hands down on the table, fingers entwined, as he did in grade school when his teacher demanded attention.

“We set a camera on you and have you tell the audience, the good citizens of Guatemala, your story. You say that if they are listening to this particular recording, it’s because the president of the republic has had you killed. You will have died to make your country better—”

“ Our country,” Guillermo corrects, snickering.

“Yes, our country.”

“I don’t like pain. An overdose of pills is not painless.”

Miguel looks at him impassively through his sharp, hooded crow eyes. “I could guarantee that your death will be painless—”

“I can’t imagine a painless death.”

“Imagine if you were playing tennis and had a heart attack that killed you instantly. One minute you are running across the court with your racket, smashing backhands, the next minute you are down on the asphalt, dreaming of making love to 70,000 virgins.”

As Miguel explains the scheme, Guillermo realizes that he has given the matter much thought. He is to look straight into a camera and say, “If you are watching this recording, it is because I am dead.” He’d then go on to accuse the president, his wife, and their inner circle of plotting to not only kill Ibrahim Khalil, but him as well, as the only other person who knew about the secret transfers and loans at Banurbano.

Miguel insists that to make the video convincing, Guillermo has to sober up. There can be no hint that his accusations are being made because he is a mourning alcoholic or that depression got the best of him. For this plot to work, the video needs to show that Guillermo is alert, very much alive, and with much to live for, even though he is grieving the loss of his lover. A bungling drunk would not be able to convince anyone. On camera he would have to be passionate, courageous, and clear as a glass bell — an individual who has become so fed up with corruption and money laundering that he is willing to sacrifice his own life to get the truth out.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“Yes you can. You are a strong man.”

“Look at me. I’m a shadow of who I was, if I ever was a strong man.”

“We can do this together, Guillermo. We need to get you into shape.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Braulio Perdomo can help you get off the bottle.”

“Your spy?”

“Come on. He’s not spying on you. Think of him as an ally: he can bring you to the gym, oversee your training. Of course you can do it. With his help, you can get into shape within a week.”

Guillermo nods. He understands how far-reaching Miguel’s web is. He sits back in his chair and sighs, realizing that his death could indeed have its benefits. He can imagine that Ilán and Andrea, even Rosa Esther, would see him as a hero, willing to give up his life to once and for all rid their birth country of the plague and stench of corruption. His death could begin the healing, the process of clearing out all the filthy leeches that are sucking Guatemala dry. His sacrifice could be the first act initiating a movement of national cleansing.

“What’s your favorite form of exercise?”

“Cycling.”

“Let me buy you an Italian aluminum alloy bike tomorrow.”

“That’s not necessary. I can repair my old Pinnarello.”

“That’s the spirit,” Miguel says.

“Two weeks is all I need to get into shape and sober up.”

“I think you can do it in one.”

Miguel is clearly calling the shots, but Guillermo truly no longer cares. He is sure that nothing he does will redeem his pointless life, though his death might help.

* * *

The suicide has to be perfectly planned and executed. Miguel will help make the arrangements. The first step is to hire people to begin calling Guillermo’s phone number with all sorts of threats. Guillermo needs to react appropriately to these calls, with the right degree of anger and fear in his texts and call-backs. The incoming and outgoing calls will be registered on his phone’s SIM card as proof of the threats. Guillermo neglects to mention the hang-ups and other strange calls he’s been receiving.

Then both he and Guillermo need to buy another set of disposable mobile devices so they can communicate privately and discuss the details of the filming and Guillermo’s death — an assassination. Miguel will provide him with the contacts. He knows hit men who would kill their own mothers for five thousand quetzales. But he insists that Guillermo make the arrangements. Miguel doesn’t want to be directly involved should something go wrong. The strategy is to keep as many layers between Guillermo, Miguel, and the hired killers as possible, so that nothing can be traced back to them. The whole scheme would collapse if Miguel’s name were to be implicated in the preparations.

The single assassin will think his orders came from the president.

Carried out in secret, with great finesse, Guillermo’s video and apparent murder will be seen by his countrymen as the final, desperate act of a courageous patriot obliged to hold the president and his band of thieves accountable for destroying the country.

* * *

The first day — a Monday — that Guillermo is on the wagon his body rebels, giving him stomach cramps and wreaking havoc on his bowel movements. He drinks gallons of Gatorade to build up his electrolytes, and eats spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar to increase his iron. He stops consuming all kinds of junk food — no more chips or pitchers of coffee — and feasts on plates of papaya and scrambled eggs in the morning, a can of tuna fish for lunch, and, continuing his high-protein diet, a steak every night, with boiled potatoes and broccoli.

He slowly finds himself climbing out of his dark hole; his thoughts, too, are beginning to develop some level of coherency.

He has Braulio bring him to the gym, where he jogs, swims, and lifts weights to get his head clear enough to make the recording. He also has the chauffeur bring his bike to the Raleigh repair shop near the Oakland Mall. It is fixed immediately and on the first afternoon of his rehab he begins to ride it again on the roads near his condominium. At first his legs are stiff and cramp up often, but little by little they start to hurt less and achieve a bit of fluidity.