FALLEN | The Devil of Caracas

Chapter 8 | Politics

"Do you really have to work tonight?" Pouts Cristina Rodríguez.

"Si, unfortunately, I do," replies her husband. "I have a few important things I need to take care of." Mateo Rodríguez sets his tablet on the nightstand and plugs the charging cable into the device.

Cristina plops herself down on the edge of the large bed. "More important than me?" she asks, flirtatiously, as she crosses one slender leg over the other. Her short, black, silk robe exposes two well-toned thighs. Rodríguez takes a moment to admire his wife, nearly thirty years younger than he.

When cancer took his first wife only four years ago, he promptly married his mistress, Cristina, less than a year later. She was young and promiscuous and he was rich and powerful; she had expensive tastes and he had a craving for fast women.

The matrimony was met with much criticism, but none more wroth than that of Rodríguez's only daughter. She still refuses to accept Cristina as her stepmother, being that the woman is only a few years older than herself.

He chuckles, striding around the bed to her. "Believe me, there is nothing more important than you, my sweetheart."

Rodríguez leans down to kiss her lips, but she pulls away. "Then be quick with whatever is... so important..." Cristina says. "And I'll be waiting for you, right here." She bites her lower lip and strokes the soft comforter on the bed. "But, if you take too long, I just might have to do the job myself."

Rodríguez grins and straightens up. "I won't be long."

He then steps toward the door and exits the bedroom. His pace quickens; he hopes this meeting will be brief. Once downstairs, he searches for his Chief of Staff. "Victoria?"

She rounds the corner from the living room. Her black heels clack against the hardwood floor. "Si, Señor?"

Rodríguez quickly eyes her up and down, disappointed she's chosen such a modest blouse this evening. 'Why does she conceal her best features?' he thinks to himself.

"Where is he?" he asks.

"In your study, Señor," Victoria replies, gesturing to the room across the hall. She then folds her arms, clutching her padfolio close to her chest, covering herself from his gaze.

The president turns on his heels and walks away from her.

Watching her boss make his way across the hall, she adjusts her glasses and then turns the other direction, toward the living room. She nervously drums her fingers on the leather padfolio against her body as she walks. If she's right about this meeting tonight, she just might have the information she needs to get herself a one-way ticket out of Venezuela. But, if she's caught she will either face trial for treason or her body might be discovered at the bottom of a river.

Victoria inhales deeply as she enters the living room and sinks down into the large sofa. Her nerves begin to show as she rapidly bounces her legs up and down.

President Rodríguez strolls into the study and promptly shuts the door behind him. He hastily moves toward the liquor cabinet, without acknowledging his guest.  Opening the cabinet, he hovers his hand over an assortment of glass bottles. His mind remains on his wife, waiting for him upstairs, as he attempts to choose his drink.

"What are you drinking tonight?" he asks, in English.

"Nothing for me, thank you," comes a man's voice from the other side of the room.

"Suit yourself," replies Rodríguez. He pulls a bottle from the shelf and snatches a glass. After dropping a few ice cubes into the cup, he pours his drink and then turns to face his visitor.