The Saboteur
by David Santiago
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4 |
part 1
Ofelia Burgos was thirty-five years old, single, slightly chubby, and very angry. She wasn’t normally angry. In fact, most of her family members, friends, and acquaintances would have described her as calm and composed. You might even say unflappable.
She was a Capricorn, the embodiment of maturity and, although she didn’t believe in astrology, she accepted this zodiac trait as a fact. She generally made good decisions, such as studying nursing and later getting a PhD in public health. This was a first in the Burgos family and led her to RTI International, based in North Carolina, where she served as a consultant and Subject Matter Expert in maternal health issues.
She was remarkably attentive to details and organized to a fault. These attributes helped her advance in her career; she was highly sought after in industry and by government clients for her research and insights. Her steely determination to get her way on issues that really mattered to her wasn’t lost on those who knew her. It was what made her successful. It was also, coincidentally, what made her single.
Her stature may have been a factor there as well. She was five-feet one-inch tall, with thick, dark-brown hair shaped into a short, choppy bob that commanded respect. Her leopard-patterned cat-eye glasses added an extra element of sophistication and fun; except, of course, when she was angry.
And she was angry now. Irate. And groggy. And disoriented.
She was sitting on the edge of a double bed in the Ritz-Carlton in Georgetown. She had no knowledge of checking into this room although she did, in principle, approve of the Ritz-Carlton. She was still wearing a white jersey dress. Her black blazer was folded neatly in half on the other side of the bed, along with her woven black high-heel mules. She had a splitting headache, and the exterior light penetrating the room from the oversized windows wasn’t helping.
In the middle of her bed, there was a large yellow stain. She touched her lower back, and it was wet.
Across from her, on the second double bed, sat a black-and-tan, rough-coated Brussels Griffon, with prominent whiskers and a noticeable underbite. It was not her dog. She had never seen it before. It was sitting on its hind legs, staring at her curiously, expectantly, through its small, beady brown eyes.
This was odd, but did not upset her. The dog blinked an eye and tilted its head, causing its lower left canine to pop out over its lip. She noticed it had no tag on its collar, no obvious form of identification.
Her suitcase was open on the floor in between the beds. A moment earlier, she had rummaged through it and, although most of her belongings were there, her speaker notes for her keynote speech at the International Conference on Public Health were missing. This upset her. There had been nearly ten pages of notes, written by hand, meticulously scribed with different-colored pens to emphasize critical points in her speech. Her keynote was to take place early the following day.
But what upset her most of all was the call she had received from her co-workers ten minutes ago.
“Ofelia, finally! We’ve been trying to reach you,” said Chloe Choi. “I have you on speakerphone. We’re at the Ronald Reagan Building, in the cafeteria. The oral presentation is in forty minutes. Is everything okay? Will you be able to get here on time?”
“Chloe?” asked Ofelia, still half-asleep.
“Jesus,” said Matthew Parker in the background, “she sounds out of it.”
“Are you okay, Ofelia?” asked Chloe. “Where are you? We lost track of you last night.”
“You missed our nightcap,” said Everly O’Brien. “We were in the JW Marriott lobby last evening.”
Then it dawned on her. It was Monday, July 21, at 8:50 a.m. She was the lead presenter to USAID for an oral presentation. The presentation was to be recorded, and there were strict limits on the time they had with the government contracting officials. This was one of the largest opportunities of the year. Unfortunately for Ofelia, she was in the wrong hotel, on the wrong side of town, and she had less than forty minutes to get there.
This made her angry. She was never late. She was always impeccably dressed. She was always focused, prepared, and ready to perform when it mattered. It was her brand.
She rose to her feet and staggered to the bathroom. She entered a separate vanity area, where the countertops were made of exquisite white Italian marble. She grazed her hand against a plush terrycloth robe hanging from a wall rack and noticed a spacious soaking tub and stall shower in an adjoining room. There was a luxury Asprey Purple Water travel set next to the sink, featuring a blend of orange and jacaranda flowers, lemon, mandarin, and ginger essential oils. Note to self: I don’t know what the heck is going on, but I definitely need to book another stay at the Ritz.
She placed her hands on the countertop and, leaning into the wall-mounted vanity mirror, inspected herself. The subsequent scream was loud enough to wake the nearby guests. Amazingly, no glass was shattered.
A few minutes later, the landline rang in her room. “Good morning, Dr. Burgos,” said the concierge. “I trust you’re doing well and enjoying your stay?”
“What, um, yes, yes, the hotel is marvelous.” At least, what I’ve seen of it, she thought.
“That’s great to hear. There was a report of a disturbance. We wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
Ofelia sighed. “Candidly, no, things are not entirely okay. My hair is a disaster. A shocking, frizzy mess. And I’m running late for a presentation. Could you arrange a cab?”
In the rush to leave for the Ronald Reagan Building, she hadn’t changed. She’d brushed her teeth, shaped her hair into place to the best of her ability, applied some blush and eyeliner, sprayed some deodorant, grabbed her briefcase with her laptop, and slipped on her blazer. She was on her way out, unsteadily running through her checklist of to-dos in the center of the room, when she saw the dog, now sitting on its hind legs in front of the entry door with its leash in its mouth.
“Er, so listen, Doggie,” said Ofelia, freezing, “this isn’t the best time for a walk.”
The Brussels Griffon cocked its head and slid its wiry tail slowly back and forth on the carpet. The dog reminded her of an Ewok from Star Wars.
“Oh... well... ¡Coño!” she growled, reverting to Spanish as was her habit when frustrated.
* * *
Outside, under the black metal hotel awning, Ofelia stood waiting for the cab, her briefcase in one hand and the dog leash, attached to its dog, in the other. It was 9:05 a.m. now, and her brain fog was beginning to fade. She desperately needed a coffee.
At 9:07 a.m., a DC Yellow Cab pulled up. Ironically, it was painted red with a gray swoosh on the side doors. As the driver was stepping out of the car to help with her bag, she felt a warm trickle on her left foot. The dog had its right hind leg hiked as it looked up at her, blinking, appearing somewhat forlorn as it squirted one last full stream before emptying its bladder.
“Seriously?” she cried. “Well, now I know you’re a guy! A girl would never be this obnoxious!”
“I’m sorry,” said the cab driver. “I thought you might need help with your bags. I didn’t mean to express some sort of medieval chivalry. Women shouldn’t be held to different standards than men, shouldn’t be treated differently, like they can’t take care of themselves.”
“What?” she asked, her mouth open before shaking it off. “Yeah, right, that kind of thing. Would you happen to have a tissue?”
Traffic was mercifully light on the Whitehurst Freeway. The cab seemed to be making good progress. She thought she might just make it to the Ronald Reagan Building in time.
She glanced at the Potomac River from her passenger seat window, then shut her eyes. I need to collect myself, she thought. Okay, I have A LOT of questions, but I need to focus on this presentation. She stroked the dog on her lap absentmindedly and began rehearsing:
There are several key factors influencing maternal and child morbidity and mortality in these regions of Peru. We see this project as a catalyst that will support Peru, to deliver sustainable improvements in health outcomes, particularly for its most vulnerable women.
The car lurched to a stop. Her briefcase ricocheted off the back of the driver’s seat to the floor. She was cradling the dog protectively, and they were nose-to-nose.
“And you can go to hell, you bastard!” shouted the driver, leaning out of the window and rocking his fist. “Tourists. They just don’t get it.”
“Okie dokie,” said Ofelia under her breath, while adjusting the dog on her lap.
Five minutes later, they pulled in behind a Loudoun County commuter bus at the 14th Street entrance to USAID’s headquarters. It was 9:24 a.m. and, against her better judgment, she needed to ask the driver for a favor.
“So, I’m in a massive hurry,” she began. “Any chance you could wait for me? I can’t bring the dog with me. It’s a long story. Let’s just say he won’t pass security.”
“I’m going to have to charge you extra for the dog,” said the driver, “but look, missus, if you pay, I’ll stay.”
* * *
Ofelia stepped out of the cab and speed-walked to the entrance. When she entered the building, Everly was waiting for her in the lobby near the security checkpoint. She was pacing back and forth, and sighed dramatically when she saw her. “Ofelia, you certainly know how to make a grand entrance!”
Ofelia nodded and hurriedly tossed her briefcase on the baggage conveyor. “Good morning, Everly.”
“Chloe and Mathew are already in the conference room,” said Everly, watching the briefcase go through the X-ray machine. “They’re setting up our laptop for the presentation. I was nearly ready to present in your absence. Thank goodness you’re here.”
“We need to revisit that company policy about having senior managers leading customer presentations. You would do a great job otherwise.”
The oral presentation was held in a sixth-floor conference room large enough to fit about twenty people. Name tent-cards had been placed on the main table next to all the USAID officials, who were seated and waiting for Ofelia and Everly to arrive.
There were seven government officials seated at one end of the table, across from the RTI International team. Ms. Henderson, the senior USAID contracting officer, a wizened, angular, elderly woman with a perpetual frown, gray curly hair, and rimless reading spectacles, was seated in the center of the USAID group with her arms crossed over her brown cardigan sweater.
Ofelia and Everly stepped into the conference room with a few seconds to spare and sat in between Mathew and Chloe. The title slide of their PowerPoint presentation was projected on the wall-mounted TV. Mathew had a remote control in his hand, ready to navigate the slides.
“We’re all set up and ready to go,” said Chloe, handing Ofelia a Starbucks Grande latte. “I thought you might need this.”
Ofelia gratefully took the cup, pulling the green plastic splash stick out of the lid. “You’re a lifesaver,” she said, taking a quick sip, then promptly spraying it out of her mouth and across the table. “So sorry, that’s very hot!”
She glanced at Mr. Wilkinson, seated to the right of Ms. Henderson. He was a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, dressed in a navy blue blazer and slacks, white button-down shirt, and red-and-blue striped silk tie. His notepad was splattered with tan coffee spots.
“Well, then,” Ofelia said sheepishly, “shall we get started?”
* * *
We all have days when the dominos fall in a neat line, according to design, and we feel like architects of our destiny. Take, for example, a well-planned family vacation to the beach. You’ve been planning this trip for months, researching the best time to head out before the roads become congested. You find the perfect bed-and-breakfast just a short walk from the boardwalk, and make reservations with the best restaurants in town.
This was not one of those days. The dominoes had fallen prematurely, unevenly; and Ofelia, despite her best efforts, could not seem to grab destiny by the shirt collar. The main issue was that she was still drowsy. The brain fog hadn’t fully cleared. It was like a hangover that just wouldn’t give up.
There was no doubt that she understood the intent of USAID’s Request For Proposal (RFP). Her company’s written proposal, which she had helped draft and submit, was strong. They had won similar work with USAID in other parts of the world. But an oral presentation is a performance, and she was struggling with the X’s and O’s. Specifically, she was struggling with focusing and maintaining her train of thought.
“Let me ask you this question again, maybe slightly differently and more directly this time,” said Ms. Henderson impatiently. “How does RTI International plan to improve maternal health services in Peru? How do you plan to work with local partners to achieve this goal?”
“Ah, yes. Happy to elaborate,” said Ofelia, taking off her blazer and placing it on her lap. “It’s a bit stuffy here, is it not?” She wiped away a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “You see, we take a whole-system approach to designing health programs. We look at the full condominium of care to ensure local stakeholder ownership.”
“I think you meant...” started Mathew.
“You provide health care in multi-tenant housing?” interjected Ms. Henderson.
“I don’t see how condominiums are relevant to this discussion,” said Mr. Wilkinson.
“What? Oh, no, I said continuum.”
“I distinctly heard you say condominium,” countered Mr. Wilkinson.
“Well, we can agree to disagree.”
Chloe nudged Ofelia on the shoulder. “That’s not really how this works,” she whispered in her ear. “We want them to agree with us.”
“As I was saying,” Ofelia continued, “we have a wealth of experience delivering—” Ofelia stared at her coffee cup, as if trying to summon the remaining caffeine to activate her brain. The green-and-white design reminded her of Christmas packaging — “We have a wealth of experience delivering holiday packages.”
There was an awkward silence, and Everly and Ms. Henderson exchanged looks.
“We don’t actually deliver holiday packages,” said Everly eventually.
“Yes, I assumed this to be another misunderstanding.”
* * *
A little past 10:00 a.m., Ofelia, Mathew, Chloe, and Everly were standing in the hallway waiting for the elevator to take them downstairs. Ofelia was holding her briefcase in one hand, her blazer folded over her other arm.
“So, that went, um, reasonably well,” said Chloe. “I mean, it could have, theoretically, been worse.”
“It was an unmitigated disaster,” said Mathew, staring at the ceiling tiles, his hands on his hips.
“We all have our highs and lows,” contributed Everly.
“That’s right,” added Chloe. “What’s important is that we learn and adjust accordingly.”
The elevator opened, and out came a party of three women. At the head of the group was someone around the same age as Ofelia, but several inches taller, with long blonde hair that fell over the padded shoulders of her cropped pink houndstooth blazer. A subtle aroma of jasmine and rose essence wafted through the air. “What a surprise!” she exclaimed, pushing her oversized aviator sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, even though there was little risk of sun glare. “Team RTI! And Dr. Ofelia Burgos, the crème de la crème of our industry. What a pleasure to see you!”
“Good morning, Dr. Julia Jennings,” said Ofelia, less enthusiastically. “Are we to assume that you’re here for the oral presentations as well?”
“As a matter of fact, we are,” she replied with an air of supreme confidence. “Chemonics is a uniquely trusted partner with USAID, so we certainly couldn’t pass up the opportunity. It’s the nature of this business.” She glanced at Ofelia’s dress and stepped forward, bending slightly to examine her backside. “Oh dear, I hate to say this in front of the group, but since we’re all professional colleagues... you are aware, I assume, that you have a large yellow stain on the back of your dress? Such a beautiful outfit, I must add. What a shame.”
Julia’s two coworkers, standing behind her, locked eyes with each other and made a half-hearted attempt to suppress a laugh. Julia looked at Ofelia with feigned concern.
“Oh yes, there is a story to tell...” started Ofelia, unfurling her blazer and slipping it on.
“Well, we’ll be going on now,” said Chloe hurriedly, hooking her arm into Ofelia’s arm and pulling her into the elevator. “We don’t want to hold you up. Best of luck!”
Julia smiled broadly, her white teeth gleaming, edged with a pronounced smugness. “We must catch up at the International Conference on Public Health tomorrow,” called Julia as the elevator door shut. “I can’t wait to hear your keynote and to learn more about your apparently wild weekend at the Ritz.”
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by David Santiago
