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That Monday morning was an authentic madness in each one of the rooms of the old building. The news of the "Brexit" of the United Kingdom had struck with an unusual force to the investors in the islands, and the stock market was collapsing. The news of the vote in favor that the country would leave the European Union had set fire to several gunpowder rifts formerly hidden and that were believed to be forgotten; the uncertainty was beginning to bring down dominoes that were already staggering with the elections in which Spain was sunk, and that would take place a few weeks later.
This situation was followed by the small bombs of Spanish companies that declared bankruptcy, and that were a basic pillar in the economy of the country. The state councilors had assured that the fall of those multinationals would not affect the Spanish state, since their contributions were barely 2% of GDP, but they had not counted on the terror that would be generated when thousands of workers from different regions of the different regions of the bull’s skin’s geography lost the only sustenance for their families, and that above they were required to vote for leaders who had been making them lose their money with useless elections and shameless embezzlement.
The blows were falling like decks throughout the day, when one after another, the companies were hanging their signs that said closed without notice. Those who remained active wondered to what extent Brexit could affect their businesses, sowing the seeds of doubt.
The manifestations were immediate, sharpened by the imminent elections and fed by the empty promises of the parties, heard a thousand times. Tuesday woke up with another bomb that shook the television networks across the country, just a few days from that one that the citizens democratically choose their next leader at the urns. A party —which until then had had a rather secondary role—, announced the fusion with another completely unknown, and both announced their measures to solve the crisis in which Spain was falling. Millions of taxpayers listened to the interview of that charismatic politician who had just emerged from nowhere, as if a magician had made him appear from inside a hat and they could not believe his words. That man was an official member of a holding company of international companies that had decided to acquire the disastrous companies that had disappeared a day earlier and had promised a stable job and with adequate remuneration for each person who was of legal adult age, had worked in the last two years at least a month, and that he carried Spanish DNI. The business holding company would establish a branch practically in each one of the capitals of the Spanish soil, would begin immediately to work, and proposed another "Brexit" to the Spanish style. Those words, exposed with that determination and charisma, permeated a frightened and disenchanted society, which believed that a change was necessary.
Throughout the successive days, the new candidate was dedicated to give a tour more typical of a rock group, and the affluence to his rallies in each city multiplied as a contagious disease. Little by little the idea of closing borders and returning to a self-managed state, with powerful companies feeding the motor of the economy and a welfare situation for families was exciting. The voters knew very well what the politician was referring to, that although he disguised the words, he had a clear concept. Many concluded that an extreme situation called for extreme measures, and the population was willing to take the risk.
A few days before the general elections, the idea of returning to a "disguised new dictatorship" and betting on that party that promised things so different from the others had already been noticed in the polls. The final blow came that Friday, two weeks before the date of the elections during a debate in a television program with the representatives of the three most combative parties. That man who nobody knew a week before squandered a knowledge to be and a charisma never seen before in a politician in our country. This guy was more from Hollywood than from a tiny Spanish party. He silenced all his rivals with clear answers and full of confidence, and executed his master blow at the end, like the great experts. The logical reticence of the voters who saw in that candidate another chatterbox, or a despot of biblical proportions, finally gave up, and that blue-eyed and clean-way of looking man abandoned the debate as the clear winner of the night. From the moment the program announced that the round of debate was over, a great portion of the Spanish society did not see with such bad eyes to try again with a soft dictatorship.
****
The room, entirely built of cedar wood and topped with gold leaf moldings, was wrapped in a bluish haze, the product of the smoke of the Cuban cigars that had been happening since early that morning. The huge polished table —which covered almost three-thirds of the room— was in a mess of papers and folders, mixed with half-empty paper cups of coffee and ashtrays overflowing with butts. Eight people reviewed files, smoked and asked for more coffee, without much interest in the partner next to them. At one point, one of the members —the one leading the board— stood up and placed both hands on the lacquered surface of the large table. He observed them all, submerged in their own thoughts and working in their respective areas, and he liked that feeling of something already lived and many times longed for.
—Gentlemen! —he said in a penetrating voice—. Tell me we can stop; give me good news as a present.
—The purchase-sale contracts are already legalized— the first one informed—. We are officially the new owners of a holding called Fuerza Insurance L.T.D.
—We have just received the support of the English prime minister, the promise of the International Bank, and numerous samples of cooperation from members of the German, Greek and Austrian governments, among others— said a man without looking up from a thick folder.
One by one the reports were happening, and the old man who continued to listen to them with his hands still leaning on the table nodded with an indifferent gesture at each one of the good news.
—Sir, the surveys are very favorable— said the youngest, who carried a student-style folder on his right forearm—. We are clearly the new hope of the nation.
The old man scratched his chin, and with all the calmness of the world he was preparing another cigar, while the rest watched in silence.
—Well, of course we are! we have always been— he cheered—. We just had to wait for the moment. This country had been asking for a new Franco since the chieftain died, and we have waited patiently.
He walked around the room, breathing the tobacco smoke and letting himself be carried away by the speeches that were natural in him.
—For years we have built the foundations to return to our place— he continued—. We extended our interests in countries across Europe, and now we must collect the rewards. It was only necessary to remove the hornet's nest a bit so that people would notice it.
One of those who had not yet spoken and who sat at the back of the table raised his bloated face and cleared his throat.
—Do you really think this is going to work? —he said point blank—. The old man remained still and gave a large suck to his cigar—. I mean, do you really think that an election can be won in a few weeks?
—And in a day! —he exclaimed with a laugh—. We interceded, to put it somehow, in that the previous elections turned out to be useless, to incite a little more the heated spirits of the voters, and this was our occasion.
—And even if that is true and we win these elections, what good will it do? —returned the other—. What is the use of a new dictatorship? We were already quite powerful before that.
The old man looked at him with bright eyes and smiled.
—You will see dear Eusebio, you will see why it is good to be in the power of a dictatorship.
****
The first instinct had led him to try to flee, but as soon as he made the gesture, the tip of a weapon appeared under the old man's jacket. Jonás fell back on the stool, distressed.
—You have been especially annoying and slippery— he said, looking at Jonás and running his tongue down the inside of his cheek, where a huge bruise had begun to appear—. But it seems that we are finally going to agree on this whole matter.
—Anabel, you promised me... — Jurgen stammered.
—You should have given me that damned pen drive before— she admitted—. But you forced me to have to look for new, "associations."
—But Chacón, Delle Chievo ...
—That's heavy water— she replied, waving her hand, washing the whole thing off—. Now what interests me is something else, that you have and that I need.
—You're a damn ...!
He jumped on her, but the old man hit him with the butt of the revolver at the nape of his neck with an extraordinary rapidity.
—Now we're going to avoid in setting up a little scene— Chacon whispered—. Or you’ll force us to have to kill every living creature in this bar.
Jonás and the German made a sign that they understood what he meant and that they would behave.
—Well, Jurgen, where's the pen drive? — Anabel asked implacably.
When the German, dazed, took more time than the expected one to answer, the old man approached and put the gun barrel in his mouth and it made him retch.
—Speak now or I'll blow your brains out— he hissed.
—Okay, fine! — Jonás agreed, raising both arms. I'll tell you...
—It’s in the house! —the German hurried—. We didn’t have time to catch it when you came for us
Chacon hesitated, but plunged the pistol deeper into the German's throat.
—If you're cheating on me, I'm going to blow your brains out right here— he operated the hammer and it sounded incredibly loud in the room.
Jonás looked anguished at Jurgen, who made an imperceptible wink.
—No, no, no! I swear, it's in my backpack, in the house.
—And the album? —the old man asked.
For a moment everyone was slow to understand what Chacón was asking, until Jurgen reacted.
—It is also there.
Anabel looked at them without understanding what they were talking about, but she did not care at all about a damn album, so she did not pay attention to that part. The German gave her a frightened look, his mouth still filled with that lead cannon. Chacon thought about it for a few seconds and pulled the gun out of Jurgen's mouth.
—All right! —he exclaimed cheerfully—. Well, then we're all going on a tour. You will see how well we get on!
Anabel stood behind the German, who was bleeding a thick trail of blood down his scalp, on the nape of his neck. Chacón did the same with Jonás.
****
They walked together, as if strolling admiring the dock that stretched beyond the stone strait and communicated the port with the city. At a prudent distance, two Anabel’s men kept attentive to any strange movement of their prisoners, to intervene immediately if necessary.
During the whole trip nobody opened his mouth, except Chacon, who spoke happily as if he was a grandfather telling anecdotes to his grandchildren. Jonás did not stop thinking about the situation, but he saw no possible way out. Until then luck had been on his side, but that seemed to be over. Chacon and Anabel were not going to let them escape again and even less keep them alive once they got what they wanted. On the other hand, there was the fact that Jurgen had not delivered the pen drive and had invented all that he had it at home. On more than one occasion he had tried to get an explanation of the German with his eyes, but the man did not take his eyes off the promenade.
—You know, when I worked for the political police, I had several... "crashes" with some radicals, people who did not understand in the same way as we did that the country needed a father, someone who imposed rules —contained Chacon—. At first, I was very angry, but one day I realized that for us to exist, those radicals must also exist; it is the law of life.
—You're like a sprinkler— Jonah spitted.
—Oh yes, that's what a few people have told me— he boasted merrily—. But everything is relative. What for some is madness, for others it is called idealism.
—What has of ideal in killing people?
—Soon you will find out, dear— he promised—. But let's continue with my story. As I said, when I worked for the police...
While Chacón continued with his inconsequential chatter, Jonás could not stop thinking that he had only a few minutes to live.