[Secret] "The Reds' Scare", or "How Falcão Came to Embrace the Darkness."

It is a dark night in the Federal District. Rui Falcão, the presidential candidate for the Workers' Coalition, steps into his office. The familiar sight of the room presents itself: the cluttered desk, the walls plastered with posters and slogans, the musty smell of a well-used office. He loosens his tie and flops down in his worn leather chair, exhausted. He closes his eyes, but is jolted awake. A ringing. A phone, but the ring is unfamiliar. Amid the clutter likes a small prepaid phone. Attached is a note. "Answer Me," it reads. Taken aback, Falcão answers warily.

"Hello, who is this?"

A pause. A gruff voice answers, sounding of smoke. Deep, melodious, ethereal. An accent lingers, well-disguised. In perfect Portuguese he responds.

"We're friends, Mr. Falcão. Or, perhaps more appropriately, we will be. I represent an organization that is very interested in you, and your vision for Brazil."

"What do you mean? Who the hell are you?"

"No need to be rude, Mr. Falcão. Our anonymity is very important to us, you understand. You'll have to be satisfied with my saying that we want you to win the election and take Brazil on the path you envision."

"That's hardly a straightforward answer is it?" Sweat begins to form on Rui's brow, chilling him. "This is all highly irregular, why shouldn't I hang up and call the police?"

The man chuckles. "Call if you like. You'll find that neither they nor you will ever be able to find us, and then you'll miss out on what we're offering."

"You still haven't told me what that was, remember?"

"Patience, my dear man, is a virtue. To borrow an expression from the Americans, you don't stand a snowball's chance in hell at winning this election without us. The electorate is deeply divided, and even if you make the runoff election, the capitalists will form a coalition against you." Falcão is silent. The man continues. "Simply put, what I offer you, Mr. Falcão, is Brazil. Do with her what you will, we want you to lead her. Accept, and I personally guarantee you the presidency."

"How would you even go about doing that if I agreed. No one has that kind of power."

"It's best for all involved if you don't know."

"So then it's something I wouldn't agree to if I knew."

"That's where you're wrong. You care deeply for the oppressed and downtrodden, as well as the Brazilian people. Laudable goals both, to be sure. You must know that those goals cannot be achieved without bloodshed, without a cause to rally behind. We will provide this cause, and fund your campaign, and all we ask is that you do exactly what you would do anyway: unshackle the Brazilian people."

Silence

"Think about it, Mr. Falcão. My offer will remain on the table for 36 hours. You'll find a phone in your desk drawer just like this one. Use it to reach me. Ask for Raimundo."

A beep. The line's dead. Falcão shudders, unsure of what to think. Could this "Raimundo" be trusted? Could this be some sort of setup? Returning home, he sleeps fitfully. The morning finds him staring at the phone he was given, dialing the only number saved in it without really realizing. A voice.

"Raimundo? I'll do it. I'm in."