The Mastermind

by David Unger

  “To your health,” Guillermo says, raising his glass.

  “Fee sahitkum,” Ibrahim answers.

  “Guillermo, I hope you like Middle Eastern food,” Maryam’s voice rings out as she comes back into the living room. She has changed out of her tennis outfit and now wears a brown, fitted skirt and a floral yellow blouse, making her appear only slightly less suburban. There’s makeup on her face: her lips are dabbed pomegranate red, and purple mascara outlines her eyes. She is ebullient, almost girlishly so. She looks at least eight to ten years younger than she did in the car.

  They sit at one end of a large dining room table. The cook has prepared a lemon and ginger soup, which is followed by a plate of grape leaves, hummus, and baba ghanoush. The main meal consists of rolled chopped lamb with plenty of mint-like parsley and flakey rice with peas.

  The conversation is light-hearted and full of pleasantries. Maryam asks Guillermo to tell them about his family, which he is more than happy to do. When he mentions that he and Rosa Esther lived in New York City when he was studying at Columbia, Maryam says that she has cousins there. They operate a small store importing Middle Eastern delicacies for the large Arabic community in Brooklyn: apricot in flat sheets, tahini, all sorts of olives and dried fruit. Somewhere on Atlantic Avenue.

  “Sahadi’s?” Guillermo offers.

  “No, it’s called Aleppo Station. My brother Mansur married a Syrian woman. They threaten to visit us every year, but we are the ones who have visited them. Hiba,” Ibrahim calls into the kitchen, “bring us the grebes and some Turkish coffee at the tea table.”

  They adjourn to a small table by a corner window, which has already been set with small cups and plates for dessert. Guillermo enjoys the cookies, which are made with bleached wheat flour, butter, and sugar. The Turkish coffee is strong and bitter.

  Maryam’s hair falls across her face every time she drops her head to eat, forcing her to constantly brush her face and tuck her hair behind her lovely small ears. Guillermo would like to bite them, especially her right ear, which is oddly flattened.

  Guillermo doesn’t recall feeling this happy in months.

  chapter eight

  merde alors

  In the succeeding month, Guillermo accompanies his client Ibrahim to his daughter’s apartment three more times for lunch. There is something kinetic building between them, but since they are both married and Ibrahim is always present, the attraction remains muted and almost hidden.

  As the weeks pass, Guillermo learns that Ibrahim dislikes Samir immensely, though he approved of him at first. This aversion is partially the result of the guilt he feels for convincing Maryam to marry him. He just about calls Samir a liar for pretending he had lots of money saved up from his hardware store and would be a good provider for his daughter’s future. Ibrahim now realizes that his son-in-law has very little money and absolutely no ambition.

  Still, his dislike of Samir—who is almost his own age—does not justify pairing Guillermo with Maryam. But he enjoys having the younger man around, and there is no doubt that these lunches please him, if only to make Samir remotely jealous.

  Guillermo wants to invite Maryam for drinks or dinner without her father as chaperone, but he suspects she would laugh in his face. She is not the kind of woman he can simply invite for a romp in bed at the Stofella, or so he thinks—she is much more elegant, and comes from a decent, if conservative, Maronite Christian family. In this, Ibrahim’s family more closely resembles Rosa Esther’s than Guillermo’s.

  What he especially likes about Maryam is that she has a desire to know what is going on in the world. While most Guatemalan women read Vanidades and Cosmo, she has a subscription to the Economist and Poder, and is comfortable reading novels in both English and Spanish.

  They talk politics, especially about the Middle East. Maryam is convinced that Iraq will end up like Lebanon—dozens of competing factions held at bay by a cold peace once the Americans leave. Or it could be worse: civil war.

  The embarrassing thing is that during these lunches, Guillermo sits at the table sporting a huge and painful erection. Going to the tea table for dessert, for example, has become an awkward maneuver for him, and there have been several occasions when he has noticed Maryam glancing at his bulky crotch.

  There is another issue too. Since Guillermo has begun having affairs, he has divided the women he knows into two separate types: the proper, marrying kind, and the cavorting sort. He wants nothing to do with the former, whom he can spot immediately, so he gravitates to those women who are either single, divorced, unhappily married, or only interested in a physical encounter. Guillermo cannot imagine finding a woman who is independent and sensual simultaneously unless, of course, she is unhappily married. He can foresee bedding down with Maryam, if he can get her alone, but only after several expensive lunches at Tamarindos and lots of tiny gifts of chocolate and perfume. At the same time, he realizes she is his intellectual equal, having secured a degree in economic history at the Universidad del Valle.

  From the first day he saw her in her perky tennis outfit, he knew she had a luscious body, one built to please him—short but shapely legs, full breasts, a kind of sassy spring to her movements. He suspects that her vulva tastes of mango, or something sweeter.

  He is afraid to take things to the next level because of his budding friendship with Ibrahim and the complications with Maryam’s husband and Rosa Esther. He imagines that the next step might be off a cliff.

  And how could he even arrange the next step? He doesn’t have her phone number, and sending her a letter at home is much too risky. What he would like to do is slip a note into her pocket asking her out for lunch at La Hacienda Real and let things go from there. He is now fantasizing about her all the time. She has become a kind of obsession, even though nothing has happened between them but a mild, almost sardonic tease. He is becoming so sexed up that he begins masturbating again, simply to keep his attention on his work. And he has begun seeing one of his lovers, Araceli, at least twice a week, even at the risk of Rosa Esther finding him out.

  Maryam must know that he is constantly staring at her with something more than desire. He is in fact undressing her, and she seems to like it, this lust, though he knows she will not act on it. In Guatemala, a woman rarely hankers after a man, especially a married man, more so if she herself is married. The woman is never the aggressor.

  * * *

  One Wednesday, as soon as he steps into Ibrahim’s office for their weekly meeting, the older man grabs him by the forearm.

  “Guillermo, I have to confess something to you. I know that we respect one another, but what I have to say to you now cannot be shared with anyone, especially not with Maryam. I need you to swear it on your life.”

  Guillermo is unflinching. “More than my client, you are now my friend.”

  “And you are mine. But all the same, I need you to promise me. Do I have your word?”

  “You don’t even need to ask.”

  Ibrahim drops Guillermo’s arm and goes over to the window, which looks down from his third-floor office above his textile factory to the parking lot and the surrounding fence. It is an ugly view of cars, concrete, and loading docks in an area that lacks plants and trees. He then walks back and signals for Guillermo to sit across from him at the table in his office. They were supposed to discuss the possibility of moving his company’s accounting offices to El Salvador. Since banks there operate strictly in US dollars, it would be easier to transfer money to Ibrahim’s accounts in Miami. Also, the president of Guatemala has begun talking about nationalizing the banks.

  “Besides the occasional threats, someone is now tapping my house and my cell phone conversations.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I used to have clear connections on both but now there is static, and a kind of muffled echo. I called Guatel to complain. They claim there is nothing wrong with my phone lines or connections. I brought my cellular to be examined, but the serviceman says it is in perfect wo
rking order. And I continue to get strange calls with the heavy breathing. This isn’t normal.”

  “Well, these winter rainstorms have been a nuisance,” Guillermo says, unconvinced by his own words.

  Ibrahim stands up and grabs his forearm again. “Guillermo, I am trying to tell you something and you are trying to calm me down by giving me silly explanations. I don’t need a lawyer for that.” He sits back down. “At our last board meeting, Ignacio Balicar—the president’s representative and the chairman of the Banurbano advisory board—interrupted my presentation on the suspicious dispersal of public funds to say that it is dangerous to make wild accusations I cannot prove. He says that the president’s enemies are acting more boldly, and he has asked his staff and associates to be careful with what they reveal to the press, especially in this climate.”

  “What climate is that?” Guillermo asks.

  “Balicar said that everything is very combustible—in case I didn’t know it. Combustible, I said back to him, that’s an awfully charged word. Balicar smiled and just kept nodding. Then he said—almost as an afterthought—that the president and his wife are upset because they sense there are members of the opposition party who are trying to encourage the army to overthrow him. And he is not going to let that happen.”

  Guillermo whistles. “That’s quite a conversation.”

  Ibrahim goes on: “He was looking straight at me when he said it. Actually, I don’t think you know that Ignacio is also a vice president of Banurbano. He is both an employee and an advisor, something I consider objectionable.”

  “So his opinions aren’t really objective.”

  “Exactly. Ignacio went on to say that independent accountants from Pricewaterhouse have already audited the bank’s financial statements for the last three quarters. The board was convened simply as an informational courtesy to assure Congress that there is transparency at Banurbano. He reiterated that the accountants are quite content with the books and that our role is not to question them.”

  “My. I am surprised that they were audited. I’m certain he didn’t produce any Pricewaterhouse documents to prove compliance. Cooked would have been the more appropriate term.”

  Ibrahim sticks his finger at Guillermo and wiggles it in his face. “Touché, my friend, touché. I wasted no time in saying, I may be seventy-four years old and a bit forgetful, but I have never rubber-stamped anything in my life. I am an honest man, an honorable man. When I was asked to serve on the board, I told Ignacio it was with the understanding that we would be independent of management and that we would be able to question or address anything that seemed controversial or unseemly. That is, we could challenge and even overturn any unusual loans the government was making to private businesses or nongovernmental agencies. Since I joined the board I have also challenged the president’s wife’s policy of giving monthly cash payments to the poor. First of all, she was not elected to office to oversee these expenditures, and secondly, I have never believed in a social welfare state. There is no way to know who is getting the bulk of this money, nor if it is being used to buy votes for her run for the presidency . . . But never mind, with this we were talking about expenditures of ten or eleven million quetzales a month, but when I saw monthly transfers on the level of forty to fifty million quetzales . . . that’s why I hired you. Can the government be involved in a money-laundering scheme? Are they using strange maneuvers to deposit money in overseas accounts or are they simply placing money in national dollar accounts they secretly control? This is what you and I have been looking into.”

  Guillermo nodded. “And what happened next?”

  “I was told not to worry. You and I saw the same kinds of ledger manipulations last time we met. But I can show you what they did last month, only with smaller quantities, and in a less apparent way. Balicar and the board secretary both laughed at me and said we needn’t worry about such small transactions when the Guatemalan government has a budget of nearly a billion dollars. There you have it, Guillermo.”

  “But why are you telling me this? Is there something you want me to do?”

  “First the threats, then the garbled phone calls, and now I think I’m also being followed.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yes, merde alors.”

  “This is dangerous.”

  “It is. In Lebanon we say, Yellah!”

  “Which means?”

  “It’s time to go. We have to do something.”

  Guillermo scratches his chin. “You need around-the-clock protection. I will get it for you.”

  “I am sorry, but I prefer to die than to live like that,” Ibrahim responds.

  “This isn’t some kind of joke. These people are serious.”

  “Sorry, Guillermo, but that is out of the question. I already have more protection in the office and factory than I need.” He rubs his very wrinkled face with his hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned anything to you. We should get back to discussing the possibility of moving the accounting and budget personnel of the textile factory to another country with lower taxes—”

  “Don’t be silly. You have others who can advise you on that. On the contrary, Ibrahim, as your principal lawyer I must know everything that is going on in your life. You need someone on staff who sees the big picture.”

  “I have given you complete access to both my thoughts and my files.”

  “I want to have a security team check out the safety systems in your car, home, and factory to make sure there are no possible leaks. I want them to check your phones and your complete phone records.” Guillermo sees an opportunity. “And I want them to inspect Maryam’s car and apartment as well. In fact, I want you to give me Maryam’s home and cell numbers right now so that I can be in touch with her.”

  “But what for?”

  “To determine if her phones are tapped. My chief concern is for you and your daughter. I want to make sure I can contact either one of you whenever I need to. I’ll also need Samir’s cell phone.”

  “Why Samir’s? He’s not involved in any of this.”

  “Yes, but he’s also a likely target whether you like him or not. I’m going to use my connections at Guatel and the Ministry of Defense to see if I can figure out what’s going on.”

  Ibrahim writes the numbers down on a small card. After that, the two men get back to business.

  “You won’t believe what’s happened at Banurbano since our last meeting.”

  Guillermo raises his eyebrows.

  “Take a look at this.” Ibrahim gives him a folder with the latest Banurbano transactions. For the first time, everything seems more or less in order, as if someone were trying to clean things up. New deposits appear cancelling the withdrawals. The financial payments are smaller, and mostly directed to NGOs with rigorous financial oversight. Clearly their inquires have produced greater caution and scrutiny, but probably also great anxiety. No one likes to have the cash spigot turned off. Something will have to give.

  The two men agree they should see the Pricewaterhouse audits, to make sure Ignacio’s telling the truth.

  “Ibrahim, is there any chance these threats have to do with your own company?”

  Ibrahim coughs. “What do you mean?”

  “All along we have assumed that the threats you’ve received have to do with your appointment to the board. But what about your textile factory? Has anyone tried to shake you down here? A disgruntled employee?”

  “I treat my workers as family. There is absolutely no union activity. Ask them. They love me,” Ibrahim says, somewhat offended.

  “What about suppliers?”

  Ibrahim closes his eyes, then puts a hand over his tightening mouth. “Well, actually,” he says, before hesitating. “No, never. There are crooks everywhere, certainly in the textile business. People who want to offer me Italian cloth that they have somehow gotten into the country without paying import taxes, or that is actuality manufactured in Singapore or China. You know that I believe we are entitled to pursue wealth with
out government interference, but I won’t break the law to become richer. I don’t need to do that. That’s not how my parents educated me. And if you think I would do something illegal to prosper, Guillermo, then you really don’t know me.”

  Juancho used to say the same thing. “I was only asking. I believe you, completely, but I need to make sure I am not missing any viable source to these threats. I want to be absolutely sure these calls are the result of your work on the board.”

  “You can be absolutely sure of that.”

  “And what about Samir or anyone else in the Lebanese community?”

  Ibrahim smiles. “Maryam’s husband is an ass. And the others, well, they admire me.”

  Several minutes later, Ibrahim’s secretary comes in to say that his daughter has just driven up and will wait at the first-floor gate to take them home for lunch.

  Ibrahim stands up and motions to Guillermo that it’s time to go.

  “I am going to have to take a rain check on this lunch.”

  Ibrahim looks disappointed.

  “I promised to go with Rosa Esther to talk to my daughter’s teachers.”

  Ibrahim shrugs.

  “Please convey my regrets to Maryam.” Guillermo is a bit disappointed that he will not see her, but at the same time he thinks that a cooling of his interest in her might be for the better. He doesn’t want to lose the upper hand in his courtship. Besides, he has some serious research to do. He doesn’t really know how he would go about improving Ibrahim and Maryam’s security systems. He has promised Ibrahim he’ll look into it, but he doesn’t have any strong connections with the security apparatus or the telephone company. Still, it shouldn’t be too complicated.

  This much is certain: he now has Maryam’s phone number, a way to contact her independently of her father. And this makes him more than a little excited.

  chapter nine