Buying Brazil (Buying Brazil Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Her shoulders slack, Robin turned and walked out. Had I said too much? Unfortunately, Aranni wasn’t my only worry. Skip was as big a problem as any. He couldn’t be trusted and had a big mouth. I had to get rid of him and that would be impossible if Robin’s fear surfaced when he was around. For now, all I could do was keep the deal moving until Gunter got the data he wanted and confirmed our understanding.

  “Robin, call José Carlos and tell him I want to go to the apartment and then he can come back to wait for you.”

  “Half a day?”

  “Yes mother, I need a shower.”

  “Keep your phone on.”

  An hour and a shower later I was negotiating Haddock Lobo’s steep, cracked downhill sidewalk on my way to the magazine shop at Oscar Freire. My head felt like a lead weight driving my neck into my shoulders. Damn, nothing was easy anymore … the sun felt warm, relaxing not like in Haiti’s burning hot sauna.

  At the café around the corner I defiantly took an outside table bathed in warming sunlight filtering through leaves layered in the tree above. Thankfully the sidewalk was awash with comforting street noise drowning my worries while I watched the heavy pedestrian traffic flow by. Sure Robin would say I was crazy but I wouldn’t hide inside shut away from the sun and the calm sea of carefree people going past. Hiding was the wrong message to send if I was being watched and it wasn’t a behavior I had ever learned.

  “Bom dia Senhor.”

  My usual waitress’s smile pushed away the last of my concern and brought a much needed smile of my own to relax my tightened jaw. “Bom dia. Favor, uma café … puro.

  I spread out the International Herald Tribune and stared off into space. My thoughts freed of work’s shadows drifted along with fashionably dressed women in search of today’s treasure. Shelly and I used to search for treasures in Portobello Road’s simple shops. Our searches were not in fancy designer boutiques like the ones here on Oscar Freire. No, we rummaged through stalls overflowing with supposed antiques in search of overlooked treasure. Shelly left some of our treasures behind when she left and later I left them in storage when I left London behind. Who knows … maybe one day?

  The rattle of cup and saucer brought me back in time to appreciate a tall slim brunette with eyes hidden behind fashionably-large sunglasses. She separated herself from the passing crowd. Smiling, her steps slowed, confident in the certainty of my attention as only a beautiful woman could be. I looked back to the newspaper, then as expected returned her smile, “café Senhorita”?

  “… brigada.”

  Standing, I pulled a chair out for her, “fala englês?”

  Sitting down with athletic grace, “Yes, I speak a little English. What is your name senhõr?”

  “Carl … and yours?”

  “Cleide.” She turned to the waiter and ordered coffee light, the Brazilian way of asking for milk in her coffee.

  “It’s a perfect day for shopping.”

  Lifting her sunglasses to reveal almond shaped honey brown eyes. “Yes, a good day for shopping and maybe an adventure. Do you like adventure Sr. Carl?”

  The slight breeze carried the scent of her perfume. It’s primal, inviting scent smoldering with the heat of the Amazon rich in orchids and earth. “Yes although people tell me I can be too cautious.”

  Her graceful, well-tanned hand brushed aside an imagined lock of hair while a grin spread across her unpainted lips. “Is now one of those times?”

  “It’s hard to say.”

  The rattling of cup and saucer heralded the waitress who mechanically started through the selection of pastries and sweets. Brazilian pastries were made with too many egg yolks for my taste reflecting Portugal’s control of Brazil for more than four centuries. There were also worthy attempts at French napoleons and éclairs but neither as flaky nor light as those at Oriel. Brazil’s best was sorvete, ice cream proudly flaunting its Italian gelato heritage. “Sobremésa Cleide?”

  “Sorvete chocolate, favor.”

  Not taking my eyes from hers I ordered, “Sorvete favor, uma chocolate é uma crema.”

  Under the glowing summer tan her skin was unblemished with just a touch of crimson staining her cheeks. When standing her light brown linen slacks just tight enough to suggest what was beneath but loose enough for comfort. They were complimented by a brilliant white linen blouse just heavy enough for modesty. It was obvious Cleide took very good care of herself which in São Paulo required more money than the average woman had. An imagined shadow blocked the warmth of the sun. Was she another of Aranni’s faithful?

  “What kind of adventure did you have in mind?”

  “The kind a man always wonders about when he meets a new woman. I am sure you have been wondering Sr. Carl.”

  “Perhaps …”

  Sitting straighter to more fully display her trim shape, “Perhaps? Am I not interesting to you?”

  “Maybe a little too interesting Querida.”

  “Querido, a woman is a mystery that can never be too interesting.”

  Unconsciously I chuckled, “You are mysterious … and very beautiful.”

  Her body relaxed back into chair. Another grin played on her lips as she sensed victory. “… brigada Senhor.”

  If she was Aranni’s I wasn’t ready for him because I didn’t expect to hear from Gunter for at least a few more days. If she wasn’t, well … Our ice cream arrived and my full attention turned away from ugliness to life’s sweetness; vanilla ice cream and Cleide.

  “Do you live close?”

  I smiled but caution stopped my answer. Discretely overlooking my silence, she continued, “If not, the Emiliano is just down the street. It is new and very chic.”

  “Why would we need a hotel?’

  “They are filled with adventure.”

  “Forgive the question senhõrita … what would this adventure cost?”

  “For me, five hundred Reis and of course the hotel.”

  … five hundred?”

  “I am not a simple country girl.” She paused waiting for a response. “But, you are young and handsome Senhor … perhaps four-fifty.”

  Her face was calm and her eyes level. The corners of her mouth turned up into a temptingly sincere smile complimented by the promising sparkle in her eyes. If she was a trap, Aranni really knew how to bait the hook.

  “How long would our adventure last?”

  “Until tomorrow.”

  Our eyes met and locked. I was certain it would be a memorable night. I was equally certain Aranni wouldn’t try anything at the most fashionable hotel in São Paulo.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a few notes. “Here is something for your company and your cell phone number. When I have a free night I’ll ring you.”

  A pout wrinkled her lips, “What about tonight Querido? Maybe now?”

  “I’m sorry Querida, I have to go in a few minutes. Business … empressa, I’m sure you understand.”

  She reached into her bag pulling out a small slip of paper. Sliding her hand across the table toward the money, “My number Querido.”

  Avoiding the heat of her hand I let the paper remain, “I am more disappointed than you Cleide. I’ll call you soon.”

  “You are not a visitor?”

  “Yes, I’m here for a few months. We have time.”

  She stood, leaned over and artfully touched my cheek with a kiss while scooping up the money, “I will wait for your call. Thank you for coffee Sr. Carl.”

  Watching her blend into the passing crowd I felt like a damned fool who let the opportunity of the century slip through his fingers. If she was Aranni’s tool she would have tried harder to get me to go with her. No, she was nothing more than one of the beautiful young women who offered ‘adventure’ to São Paulo’s pampered affluent who were in need of diversion. They are spoiled men with one standard for their own behavior and another for their wives. Senhõrita Cleide was certainly nothing threatening. She was just a well-paid, very charming and quite beautiful plaything … or
was she?

  During the next hour my attention drifted between my newspaper, Cleide and what might have been. The ringing of my cell phone and Robin’s anxious voice snapped me back into the here and now. “Pedro Rossi called and wants to see you at once. Rossi seemed worried about something but wouldn’t say a damned thing more. José Carlos is on the way to pick you up and take you to Rossi’s office.”

  “You can stop and breathe now. Call José Carlos and tell him I’m at the café on Oscar Freire.”

  Thirty minutes later I was waiting in Rossi’s reception area. The receptionist assured me he would be right with me. The ‘right with me’ stretched into a long twenty long minutes before Rossi appeared.

  “Forgive me Carl, the telephone would not stop.”

  Taking his outstretched hand, “Please don’t worry. It’s always good to see an old friend.”

  “Come, I need some air,” pushing the elevator call button. “I didn’t go out for lunch.”

  Once outside Rossi said there was a small café at the end of the block but we should walk slowly. It was obvious there was something he planned to say and wanted the safety of the crowd to say it in.

  “What is it Pedro?”

  “Nothing specific, I received a call from some ‘old’ friends this morning. Their comments sounded like those from the past. They also said some things … troubling things. Do you understand?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I’m sure you remember I was President of the São Paulo Civil Courts during the Military years. When I held that position I was sometimes given information the military wanted delivered but did not want to do it directly. I had to do as I was asked back then and some people continue to expect the same of me today.”

  “General Aranni?”

  “He or any of the others in charge, never … plausible deniability. I am sure you understand. Who called or instructed the call to be made makes no difference yesterday or today for this or any conversation. What is important is I was given shall we say one observer’s version of the ‘unofficial’ project you are engaged in and the potential for difficulty such an undertaking could represent.”

  We stopped while Rossi to look in a cigar shop window but not at cigars. His attention was on the reflections of those around us and those passing by. “I was told you were not truthful with a Brazilian officer when asked a direct question. People have done a lot less and sincerely regretted their mistake.”

  “I have had no contact with the Military here … ah Port-au-Prince. That was outside of Brazil. I was trying to relax for a few days and wanted some privacy. Also, please remember it’s a rule in the merchant banking business. Never talk about business with strangers.”

  “It’s not that simple for you this time. In many ways Brazil is a mix of both yesterday and today but only a Brazilian with ‘appropriate’ prospective can appreciate what that means. Our current President is the son of a General and is trusted by most of those who matter. It seems certain people believe the next President will not be worthy of such trust and will require closer watching.”

  “What has that to do with me? I’m not political and neither is the deal. We’re doing no more than trying to buy what the government wants to sell.”

  Turning from the window and continuing toward the street corner, “Ah … government … it sounds like such a strong, rational thing. In reality here it is little more than a weak struggling creature trying to serve more masters than you and I can imagine while also hoping to grow strong one day. Many times its parts work at cross purposes without knowing it is doing so. While trying to appear sane and judicious at times it really looks to be focused on nothing beyond surviving the next election. Remember this is not England or North America. We are surrounded by countries filled with ideas of the Left and the Right who have histories very different than our own. You should also be aware that here in South America borders are essentially nothing more than myths.”

  Rossi went into a café choosing a table far at the back and well out of sight from the street.

  Sitting, searching the faces of the other people around us, I leaned across the table, “I still don’t understand why any of this should matter to me.”

  “I told you earlier of the concern for access held by many people. That concern seems to have grown with the passing hours and reports coming from abroad.”

  “They think I’m trying to undermine the government? That’s crazy.”

  “That is another oversimplification my friend. Remember, peoples’ fears are often not based on what you or I might call reality but some dark imagined view of the future. It is part of the reason I cannot tell you what to do regarding this or anything else that may arise in the same manner. I can only counsel caution in everything you do in order to avoid misunderstandings among, shall I say, observers. One thing I can say, my friends still believe there is opportunity for everyone to accomplish what they want. From the past I can tell you this is very good.”

  “Thank you. I assume we have never had this conversation. Considering that, do you have any suggestions?”

  “One, remain transparent. Use your satellite telephones so your colleagues believe you are being cautious but remain transparent to those who matter.”

  “So, the office is bugged also.”

  “I wouldn’t know my friend and I wouldn’t try to find out if I were you. There is always a convenient café in São Paulo. It is one of the city’s charms.”

  “… and the coffee is much better than in the office.”

  “Yes … perhaps it is one of the reasons so much important business is done in places like this and why some of them are very popular today and others popular tomorrow.”

  Thank you for your insight Pedro. I will do my best to make the most of the opportunity you suggested still exists.”

  “Then I have done my job for ‘all’ my friends. Thank you. Shall we stop for a cigar on the way back? There is a Cubano exile, Alonzo Menendez, he fled to the Canary Islands and now is in Bahia making very good cigars from our Brazilian black tobacco particularly our special maduro wrappers. I would be delighted to introduce you to them.”

  “Adriano, we are having trouble hearing you. Call us using another telephone please.” General Aranni sat straight in his chair looking out into the garden. The seconds ticked past with the silence broken only by the sound of coffee cups being placed back in their saucers by two of Aranni’s three closest colleagues, General Frederico Lucatelli and Colonel Armando Lopes. The third, General Adriano Luna was still in Haiti with the United Nations force.

  The four of them were all that remained of the eight men who took control when it was necessary. One died suddenly just as it looked like his opposition would prevent re-democratization. Age had claimed the others and now white haired, bent and retired, Lucatelli was the oldest, Luna the youngest and Aranni still the most powerful.

  Aranni pushed the blinking button for the speakerphone’s secure, scrambled line, “Is this better? It takes a moment to move the machine to this line.”

  “Much better Adriano. I told the others of our earlier conversation about Matthews. Now let me bring all of you up to date on the latest information and intercepts. First, our embassy in Vienna reports that Von Salzbeck is a respected merchant banker who is held in the highest regard by people who matter. Second, Matthews was not truthful with his colleagues about his weekend trip. Third, when I asked Rossi to warn Matthews about possible telephone problems Matthews sent the Watkins boy out of the country to ask his father for satellite telephones. Fourth, when the Watkins boy was gone Matthews told the woman he had lied about the weekend.”

  Again silence filled Aranni’s garden office. Even the air conditioner seemed fearful of making the next sound. “Well, gentlemen, are there any thoughts to share.”

  The speakerphone was first, “It seems as if Matthews is up to something he doesn’t want his employer to know about and plans to keep us out of also.”

  “That makes sense Adria
no. What our friends in New York have told us about Watkins makes it quite possible. Sam Watkins is not a man to be trusted and perhaps Matthews feels Watkins junior is in Brasil to spy on him.”

  Lopes leaned toward the speakerphone, his voice weakened by age and too many years of shouting commands, “… but why the Austrian? If he is being kept hidden then it is reasonable to expect whatever Matthews is planning is not what is expected.”

  “It could be no more than not wanting Bradesco to find out he is shopping the loan around. Maybe the Austrian will share fees with Matthews in some way.”

  Aranni firmly put an end to the fee sharing thought, “No, our file on Matthews clearly says he is honest. Also it says he is a rich man. I doubt if a few dollars of shared fees would interest him enough to do something stupid.”

  “He seems to have a weakness for the Alana woman”, Lucatelli’s voice cracking. “Send her back and see what she can learn. It can do no harm and …”

  Luna’s boomed up from the table speaker, “Why bother with her. Deal with Matthews the same way we did with the Italians. They have been stopped and it will do the same with the Americans.”

  In a honeyed voice Aranni brought the heat level down, “Gentlemen, the Civil Police have not accepted the Italians’ deaths as the work of street criminals. They have some theories but I do not want to give them more with another foreigner’s death. They are not our friends. The PT …”

  “The PT can go to hell. If they should win the election by some trick, we will teach them the past is not dead.”

  “My dear friend, we all know the past … today our concern is protecting what we need to help insure the future. Our country changes every day, much of it for the better but there are always past difficulties lurking somewhere. Perhaps your two years in the hell of Haiti has taken its toll on you but we all still share responsibility for the needed actions we have to take daily to be sure our position remains firm. We miss your strong hand here with us but where you are today you do great things for our country’s future. Here at home we have to be very careful to protect the progress you and others have paid so very dearly for.”