Chapter 52
The morning was exhausting, he had had to meet with his strategic team quite early. Esteban Linares, the campaign manager was nervous, considering that the meeting in Madrid was one of the most important, if not the most. Luis Perella, the person in charge of surveys, publicity and the press, ran around with a bunch of folders under his arm, which finally ended up being thrown to the ground. The beautiful Laura —with whom he had kept a fleeting adventure— appeared with the written speech and whispered in his ear that he should memorize it point by point.
They had months of campaign, that had been eternalized when not arriving at a majority and needing second elections. His party was unknown, and in the first elections hardly got a few thousand votes, but the thing had changed. His advisors had disappeared overnight and had been replaced by their current core. The turn had been spectacular. In the second elections, his party had reached an unexpected popularity thanks to the publicity campaign and marketing that they had made. He did not actually fully share the ideals of his party, but that meant being political, playing a role before the most difficult audience. It was clear that the basis’ success they had been reaping during the last months was due to their great charisma, but also to the electoral program, which was quite aggressive with the other parties and populist to the very root of each word. His party said things that the voters wanted to hear, even though most of them did not have the courage to recognize it. As Esteban had said one morning jokingly, they were the party "TV trash". No one admitted that they saw them, but when the screen quota was made public, they were always at the top.
At first, he had been surprised when he had been notified that he would be the candidate of the new party, since he was not even an active member of the committee, but as the days passed he was sure that the decision had been the right one. He had an irresistible character, with a dominating bit that made him an object of admiration. Not to mention his physique.
—Let's see, everyone ready! — shouted Luis, the press officer—. They tell me we'll be going out in fifteen minutes.
The commotion grew around them like two air currents that collide and begin to create a whirlwind. The screams followed hysterical, and in that moment his mind went blank, he walked away. He saw himself acclaimed by the voters, handing out greetings, smiling at the camera. When he opened his eyes again, he was so relaxed that he could have fallen asleep. Next to him, the rest of the members of the party were finalizing the details, which would be strategically placed behind him to emphasize subliminally the union and the strength of the group. The details and gestures were important, and a lot.
He heard the cheers that resounded in the square and a tingling rose through his stomach. Less than a week before the election, he knew the results of the polls. He would not win, but that was not important, the important thing was to get the maximum seats and position. As his grandmother used to say, "stick your head in".
Just before going out to the square, the strange video that they had made him record the night before came to his mind. "Bah, a simple electoral trick," he said.
****
That morning —before the sun rose over the horizon— a contingent of two lightweight Land Rovers 88 and a tactical mobility truck URO VAMTAC disembarked on the only runway at the airport. From there they proceeded at a slow pace along the difficult LP2 road that meandered through vineyards and banana plantations, to later give way to a few stubbles of white broom that appeared between the formations of basaltic materials. An hour later, they came to a small natural depression called El Paso and waited there —under the scant shade provided by a cove of pines— until the new orders arrived.
****
Three floors above, both were breathing heavily due to the steepness of the stairs. A door with yellow crystals awaited them at the end of a dim corridor. At the door, a lackluster sign reported that this was Tropel's office. They knocked and entered without waiting for an invitation. After hearing the false story about the article that the El Interventor prepared about the theater in the sixties, Carlos Tropel, owner of the Eslava sprawl out in his chair and lit a cigarette. He did not say anything for a couple of minutes until he finally crushed the butt and stared alternately at the two of them.
—And you say that this report is for the El Interventor? —both nodded—. Does Millan's grandson work with you?
Raquel and Juandi looked at each other in stupefaction, not understanding how this man knew Jonás or his grandfather. A chill of mistrust suddenly germinated in both.
—José María Millán was a good friend of mine— he confessed smiling before the faces of distrust—. He talked a lot about his grandson, that's why I know your newspaper. I felt his death very much, I was even at his funeral. I met him when "Rings for a lady" was premiered by Antonio Gala, but he was already here long before. At that time, I was about to take the Eslava, and José María encouraged me. He told me how celebrities had passed through the first floor such as Celia Gámez, the Argentine starlet, Nati Mistral, Tennessee Williams, he made me see the magic of this place. In this corridor that leads to my office there are portraits of Alberti, Almodóvar, Tierno Galván, Stevie Wonder... —he realized he was rambling—. The fact is that José María helped me to build this site with his unique talk and his way of making me love the show. We spent many nights of coffee and cigars, and in almost all of them he mentioned Jonás. He was his right eye, although he could not be with him as much as he wanted. Before leaving Madrid, he asked me for a favor.
He leaned over and grabbed a totally timeless phone that looked like something took out of a black and white movie. After whispering a few words, he sat down again and looked at them for a long time.
—Once, José María asked me if his grandson came into this room asking for help for anything, I would provide it, and since you are his friends I will give it to you —he lit another cigarette—. I have ordered the best churros that you will ever taste from San Ginés, so while they arrive, why don’t you tell me what has really brought you here?
Chapter 53
The square, although wide, was crowded. The Royal Theater stood majestically on its back, like a silent guardian who watched over to see that everything went perfect. He noticed that they had protected the trees with a kind of cardboard panels so that the crowd would not bend them.
He pushed aside the curtain —as the great wizard did before Alicia— and went out on the planked stage that morning. The first contact with the creaking wooden platform made him sway a little, and he felt a very powerful nausea that struggled to ascend from his stomach. His vision dimmed for a fraction of a second, and he quickly cleared again. He was having a panic attack. Someone pushed him gently from behind and he advanced mechanically, as if invisible threads managed his steps. He reached the foot of the reading desk and listened to the cheers. He saw the placards with his name and several clever slogans, and suddenly the incipient panic that had seized his mind disappeared. Those people were there, on a cold winter morning to listen to him, to cheer him up, TO ACCLAIM HIM! He rose from a small impulse and adjusted the microphone.
—Dear friends— he said after a few seconds. His amplified voice ended with a burst of applause—. First, I want to thank you with all my heart for coming here today.
Another new applause storm, more cheers. That was growing in intensity, just like him. When he picked up the microphone again his body was full of excitement.
****
The huge Mercedes zigzagged through the streets of the capital at full speed. The driver dodged the other vehicles at the last second and Jonás feared that they might have an accident, but suddenly, when they reached Carlos III Street, a security guard cleared their pass through a yellow fence so that they could move forward without complications
—Is everything cut? —Chacon asked again.
—Yes, from the Plaza de Isabel II— Gutiérrez corroborated—. But it cannot be reached by Arrieta or Campomanes, and Arenal Street is still cut off from traffic.
—Perfect! —he exclaimed—. That will make our job much easier.
—Relax— said his partner—. I’ve already told you that everything is controlled.
****
That was improving at times. He felt that the world was his at that precise moment. Those people reacted to every word he spoke as if he was the Messiah himself. In a couple of points, he had forgotten the speech he had to say —carried away by the effervescence of the moment— but as the great professional he was, he had picked up the thread without hardly noticing his exit from the script.
Each time he paused to catch his breath, he seemed to feel the vibrations of those people in his belly, breathing at the same time as he was, taking the same breath to recover the air that would allow them to contract the diaphragm and continue to cheer him.
—That's why— he shouted again—. I'm not going to shut up! —new applause—. Although from several corners that they have tried. Corruption, stifling taxes, the unemployment rate, illegal immigration, that only favors a few!
He paused dramatically while the people exploded again.
—And we all know who they are! —he cleared his throat and lowered his tone—. Sometimes, in desperate situations you must take desperate measures, however hard they may seem —a murmur spread through the crowd—. And I intend to take them!
They were right where he wanted. That was the moment to reach the climax.
—I'm going to fight for our nation! —he howled—. I will achieve social cohesion and I will bring back the national identity that we should never have lost sight of it. I will harden the regulations and chase the corrupt until they feel the fear of stealing Spain. Well-being in Spain will once again be of all Spaniards!
Once again, a clamor broke out that deafened the square. Banners and little flags fluttered in the capital’s cold winter wind.
****
They pushed him through the lonely pedestrian avenue until they reached number 1 in the building. The Gaviria palace was unusually deserted, and no exhibition was held in its many rooms. Jonás was surprised that apart from guards and men in security suits, he had not seen anyone else in a street where, as a rule, it was always crowded.
A guy who had been waiting for them at the entrance of the building came up the narrow stairs and began to sound a huge key chain as they left closed doors and locals behind them. Once they reached door number 22, the guy gave the key ring to Gutiérrez and disappeared.
—Ready? —he asked excitedly. Neither Chacon nor the driver answered—. We are about to make history.
—Do you know anything about Fumo? —asked Chacon, who did not change the look of tension on his face.
—Nothing. I guess that crazy man is having fun somewhere with some brainless girl.
They entered cautiously, and the smell of lichen, a hermetic, impenetrable mold, plugged their senses. When at last they could illuminate a few meters thanks to Gutiérrez's flashlight, he almost dropped it to the ground because of the impact. Chacon let out a muffled exclamation that ran through every room in the uninhabited house. As far as they could see, there was not a single piece of furniture, but an excessive quantity of wooden boxes, of all sizes and stacked next to each other. Gutierrez turned to his companion and handed him the key ring.
—Take him to another flat while Ramón and I check the material— he ordered—. And don’t make noise, I don’t want the transfer team to be disturbed.
Chacon showed his sharp teeth through a wicked smile and dragged Jonás by the neck outside the flat, which had once served as an occasional home for Carmen Broto
****
At that same moment, the telephone connected by satellite to the network broke the silence and the man picked it up instantly. The orders that they were waiting had finally arrived. The two Land Rovers and the truck returned to the unpaved road of compact earth and traveled the scarce two kilometers that separated them from their destination. Once there, the twelve men who had been divided among the three vehicles jumped to the heated rock surface and were distributed along the fence at intervals of about fifteen meters. They placed the charges and retreated at a safe distance. The one in charge raised his right arm while watching his watch carefully, and when the time came, everything accelerated.
****
Chacón listened as Gutiérrez spoke on his phone, and a moment later, the truck had already been placed in the center of Arenal street. He wanted to take that little boy and be alone with him to put a bullet in his head, but he was also enjoying that moment of glory. Gutierrez appeared through the door of the flat with a smile that was hard to beat.
—I'll call our friends— he informed his partner—. So, they can check everything before transfer starts.
Chacon smiled and noticed the box Gutierrez took in his arms, the size of a snuffbox of good cigars.
—What is that?
—This is mine— he patted his partner's shoulder—. And if you finish what you owe soon, you can also choose the piece you want before those pencil pushers appear to divide the cake.
Chacon turned around and pushed Jonás roughly into the flat. The young man continued pale as a corpse, and his hair was covered with sweat because of the fever. The shirt had become blood stained again.
—Well, finally a little privacy for both of us— Chacon hissed, running his tongue over his dried lips—. I must hurry, but I promise that this is going to hurt you.
****
From the top of the Eslava building, Raquel and Juandi watched as their friend had just entered with those two assassins to the Gaviria palace. A few minutes later, a truck pushed through the security measures and parked on the avenue, next to the portal. Juandi had panicked, for he had launched himself toward the stairs with the intention of going for his friend, but Raquel and Tropel had dissuaded him. As a minimum, Gutierrez and Chacon were armed, and surely the man who accompanied them —and who seemed to be the driver— would also carry a gun. Juandi did not want to attend to reasons, and almost managed to knock down his friend and the owner of the Eslava when he tried to reach the stairs but managed to calm down a bit when Tropel called the police from another era phone.
From the window they watched as Gutierrez appeared in the street and waited impatiently, until a cortege of about twelve or thirteen excellently dressed people arrived and got lost in the bowels of the Gaviria palace. Immediately after, a guy appeared around the corner of the El Maño bar and walked briskly towards the portal. Both Raquel and Juandi could see that the stranger was carrying a weapon —with an abnormally long barrel— that he carried stuck to his thigh.
—What the hell is happening here? —Juandi said.
On that occasion, neither Raquel nor Tropel could dissuade him. At that moment, not even a special forces’ riot squad could have stopped Juandi from going to his friend.
****
He was exhausted. He had been on stage for over an hour exposing the points of his program, but in the last twenty or twenty-five minutes he had emptied himself. It was time to finish, and for that he wanted to give the finishing touch, bring down the curtain. He was determined that this speech would generate the popularity he deserved to gain weight in the elections that would be held in less than five days. He prepared himself and grabbed the microphone again.
—I want you to know that I am in contact with several governments in which the system works— he said—. There is no high unemployment rate, no corruption, no helplessness with the children of the country. In the recent months I have suffered pressure from different parts of the government, but I will not give up.
He moved a little closer to the microphone and fumbled awkwardly to remove it from its support as he continued talking. He remembered the strange words that they had made him memorize the night before and sighed for not forgetting them.
—And do not think I'm not scared— he did not understand that part very well, but he obeyed orders—. Even from within my party there are threats!
At that moment he ma
naged to get the microphone out and made a move to approach the edge to look at his voters but stopped in his tracks and the sight was lost in the middle of the crowd. The second shot hit him in the forehead, and he never heard the screams again.
****
Gutiérrez acted as a guide in a museum, while his companions had reflected on his face the obvious signs of mistrust for this strange situation. They expected a show, but not a tour outside the hotel facilities. The agreement they had reached was a meeting in the boardroom of the luxurious inn, but Gutierrez had insisted that what he had found was too large to carry under his arm, that they would not regret it and that they barely had to walk a quarter of a mile outside the hotel.
When Gutiérrez made them enter the flat that had belonged to Carmen Broto, exclamations of amazement ran through the group. Gutiérrez begged his guests to check what was waiting inside those boxes, like the magician who reserves the best trick for the end. At the immobility of the group, the old man asked for an iron lever that Ramón —which had discreetly remained behind the staff— approached him immediately. With a smile he moved forward to one of the boxes that had the shape and size of a painting. After struggling a bit, the lid came off, and inside appeared a dozen paintings wrapped in old newspapers. Nobody noticed that those wrinkled newspapers carried the cover of the weekly El Caso. Gutiérrez kept opening boxes, and the procession —increasingly convinced and greedy— followed him, reviewing that wonderful collection. While Gutiérrez talked about the works that made up the fabulous Bosch i Catarineu collection, he worked with the crowbar in a box that resisted. When he finally managed to open it, he did not even hear the metallic sound that was produced, immersed in his own chatter
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