Buying Brazil (Buying Brazil Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “It’s good the borders are open again. Hopefully the knowledge you need will be imported.”

  “Maybe … a good Vino Verge is important but not so much that it alone justifies all of the other things finding their way into Brasil these days.”

  “Am I one of those ‘other’ things?”

  “It begins to appear you may not be. What comes next will decide for us.”

  “What do you want to come next?”

  “To listen to what you believed was so important. But, it has waited this long. It will wait until after coffee.”

  Dinner was roasted beef from our host’s fazenda, ranch. With the beef came something I had never seen before. Two servants carried out a long narrow platter with what looked like a two-foot-long charred log on it.

  Seeing the question on my face, “It is palm Mr. Matthews. Not the neatly bottled hearts Brasil is known for. No, this is the way they ate it in Amazonia five hundred years ago when the Portuguese arrived. It is a special variety of the palm tree that was almost been eaten into extinction. Now some of us grow them for our own tables.”

  I watched as the servants cracked and then striped away the charred outer husk revealing a creamy white core. With the care of surgeons, they removed the last of the fibrous bark transferring the steaming core to a smaller plate garnished with orchids.

  “What do you think Mr. Matthews?”

  “I’ll tell you after I taste it.”

  “Still cautious, be careful please it cools slowly.”

  I blew on a forkful, waited and blew again. Then carefully, trying to avoid being burned, I tasted it. After that the heat wasn’t important. “It’s wonderful. It’s like a dense pudding, sweet and with an almost flowery caramel taste. I can’t remember anything quite like it.

  “There isn’t anything like it. It is unique like Brasil and requires protection to flourish.

  It is one of our treasures and we cannot allow it to be used carelessly.”

  “I heard that before about other national treasures Senhor.”

  “Please, now we should enjoy dinner.”

  An hour and a half later coffee was served in the salon along with more brandy and cigars. Rich, fragrant coffee that made me think of Gunter and Vienna. I wished I could enjoy the fellowship of the moment but it was impossible to forget I had been invited to my own kidnapping. Although assured I would get home safely there was still a cloud darkening the evening. Could they be believed? Doubt chipped away at my ability to think. One thing that was certain, the next hour would decide what happened tonight and in the days following.

  In the same seats as before dinner, judge and jury left me standing flanked by the two portraits. Cigar smoke again filling the air again. Silence … it was my turn to talk.

  Chapter 10

  Sun filled my bedroom accompanied by the growing heat of the day. It had to be late. By now Robin would have me lying in some ditch alongside of a deserted country road leading off into nowhere. I reached for the phone.

  “Good morning Robin.”

  Surprisingly calm, “Decided to sleep in?”

  “How …?”

  “The maid called José Carlos to find out what she should do. You were in the way of progress.”

  “I was up late last night …”

  “I know that too. Rossi called. He apologized for the late night. He’ll call you later.”

  “What time is it?”

  “You expect me to know everything … 11:40, technically it’s still morning. Are we going to see you today?”

  “Yes … ask José Carlos to pick me up at the cafe on Oscar Freire about 1:30.”

  “You can tell me what Rossi was bending your ear about until the wee hours when you get here. I know it wasn’t wine, women and song. He’s not the type.”

  “Don’t worry. He takes a long time to make a point. See you later.”

  I headed for the shower to clear my head. Before telling anyone anything about last night I had to be sure I understood what happened. I knew what I said but I had no idea about its affect if any. There hadn’t been threats or warnings before we parted. But, there had been little else said except the usual polite but empty words meaning nothing.

  Hot water unknotted my neck. I used to be able to work deals all night and be in to work early the next morning. Was it age or concern about the potential consequences of disappointing my new best friends? They were the kind of people I spent my life carefully avoiding. Polite, genteel, they would turn the dogs loose on you without the blink of an eye. The menacing kind of big black dogs I had seen in the early morning light as we drove from the hilltop estate.

  Toweled off, razor in hand I stared at the face looking back at me from the mirror wondering if he was the only crazy one in the bathroom. How long would it take last night’s ‘hosts’ to report to Aranni and receive instructions? Maybe it already happened and Rossi would be calling me with the news later today. No, Rossi wouldn’t be the one delivering this message. He had spent years staying at a safe distance while remaining faithful … and useful.

  Dressed casually and with the sun warm on my face, I strolled downhill toward Oscar Freire. It was a better way to start the day than fighting crowded sidewalks in New York. I was overcome by a feeling of restlessness much like the ones Shelly and I had shared when our marriage was becoming just an illusion like the seeming peacefulness of today. An illusion Aranni and his friends could easily shatter as Shelly had so easily done. In my business doubt and uncertainty were common place and usually went unnoticed but this morning they were closer companions as I entered the news seller’s shop for a paper.

  They were also there when I sat down at my now customary sidewalk table that had been waiting patiently for me in the shade of the neighboring thick curbside tree that was winning its struggle against the confining asphalt at its trunk. A citywide struggle between man and nature. One in which man was destined to lose just as he had when 500 years ago Amazonia’s great cities began their return to jungle after diseases brought by European explorers killed millions of native people.

  A cup and saucer rattled onto the table accompanied by the ring of flatware, “Bon dia Senhor.”

  “Bon dia … obrigado.” After pouring coffee she disappeared into the kitchen for my breakfast. The same every morning … toast, eggs fried in butter, bacon, coffee and juice accompanied by yesterday’s newspaper and the parade of humanity passing by. But today was different because each passerby could be Aranni’s assassin. Not at all comforting but I would not be driven inside as one after one they passed taking no notice of me. Finally, at one twenty-five my white VW pulled to the curb.

  I signaled to the waitress, left money on the table, folded my paper, crossed the sidewalk and reached for the car door handle. A dark hand beat mine, “… favor Senhor.” I turned toward the voice but could see only an outline against the midday sun reflecting off the newly cleaned plate glass of the adjoining shop. “Uma carro … seu apartmento … oito hora esta noite … somente voce. Entendo?” I nodded affirmatively.

  Yes, I understood. A car would be at my apartment eight tonight and I should be alone. Whose car and where would it take me? The door closed behind me and a green-clad back disappeared into the crowd flowing past.

  José Carlos’ voice betrayed fear, “Who was that, what did he say to you?”

  “A beggar looking for money …”

  “They are everywhere. Be careful Sr. Carl. They are all thieves and worse.”

  “You’re right they are everywhere including London, New York and Paris. At least here I have you to protect me. Let’s go.”

  The fifteen minutes to the office was filled replaying the hastily delivered Portuguese words. As we turned onto Ave. Rebouças I searched my memory of last night looking for clues about tonight’s destination. A car would be at my apartment at eight tonight. I should be alone. Couldn’t they just call? Maybe they were afraid of their own tapped phone lines and betrayal by a friend. Maybe it was all just paranoi
a.

  “Good afternoon. Call Rossi for me please. After I finish with him you said there was a type of mall next door. My brown belt needs to be replaced. You can tell me where to go … even better, come with me.”

  Robin had a puzzled look, she started to say something but I raised a finger to my lips. Silently she shook her head. Robin was both smart and quick and when it came to common sense no one I knew was even close to her. I nodded back.

  “Hello Carl, I am sorry. I did not expect to keep you out all night.”

  “The food was good, the company interesting, I guess we lost track of time.”

  “Yes, I think everyone found it quite interesting. We will have to see if any business develops but I think you should be optimistic.”

  “Do you think they will follow up with you or me?”

  “It is hard to say. I would guess since they now know you and if they want to continue the discussion they will contact you directly. It would be sensible.”

  “Thanks very much for the evening. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

  “Tchau my friend.”

  ‘Optimistic’, good feedback on last night but not conclusive and Rossi was taking himself out of play. Was the use of optimistic a ploy to lower my guard and make me an easier target for Aranni’s storm troopers? Was it a way of insuring I would be on the sidewalk at eight tonight eagerly waiting to ride off into some dark unknown oblivion?

  “Robin, let’s get going. I don’t want to waste a lot of time.”

  Once on the sidewalk in front of the building Robin took the lead. She took us to the next building on Paulista with its glassed-in retail storefronts and two large door-free entrances leading in from the street to a maze of small lanes lined on both sides with enclosed cubicles glowing from too many spotlights. Each cubical a different business fronted by a glass showcase displaying a unique collection of whatever the merchant could get his hands on. “What do you think boss? We haven’t seen anything like this since Eastern Europe.”

  “No, I haven’t. It’s capitalism in the purest form. Surprising how all these places look the same regardless of geography or politics. They usually have a food hall and I need another cup of coffee and a crowd to talk in.”

  Robin pointed, “Upstairs and follow one of the main aisles to the back. There are a bunch of food stalls with tables in the middle. I’ll get us a seat … you get the coffee.

  The food hall was an open cavern protected from seasonal rains by a metal roof twenty feet above that was open below the rafters on three sides in a futile attempt to let the heat out.

  The more active ventilation system consisted of fans filling open side exit doorways. Robin found us seats at the end of a long, food stained plywood common table surrounded by twenty-five or thirty folding chairs. What distinguished the table was it shared both the noise and draft from two thirty-six inch fans in the nearby exit.

  Not waiting for me to set down our foam plastic cups of cafe-con-leche, “Ok … how deep is the shit we’re into? If we have to go hide to talk it’s bad and what’s worse is that you really believe we’re being bugged.”

  “Bad maybe … out of control, no.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “I’ve always appreciated your ability to summarize complex issues.”

  “Knock off the crap Carl or I’m heading directly for the airport.”

  “Enough drama Robin, the only unresolved problem is how we, you and I, make some money on the way out. After last night I think Watson expected problems or planned to make them when he sent us here. He considers us an expendable commodity. He’ll be happy as long as he gets what he wants and like the rest of his type, he doesn’t care about anyone or anything else.”

  “What about Skip?”

  “He’s just Sam’s personal listening device. When Sam hears what he wants Skip is out of here on the next plane.”

  “… leaving us where?”

  “Who knows … maybe sacrificial lambs. Sam’s working a scheme to manipulate local politicians in the run up to the presidential election. Last night I was told about some of Watson’s recent back channel communication with contacts who he carelessly believes he owns exclusively. It shows how little he knows about how things work here.”

  “What were you guys drinking last night? It sounds like us against them except we’re them? Where’s the payoff? Who were you and Rossi talking to?”

  “One at a time … Rossi picked up some noise and he checked it out with some ‘old’ friends. He called me and I agreed to meet on their terms … no names and no talking about the meeting or its content. The one exception is you.”

  “Who the hell are they?”

  “Rossi told me I didn’t want to know. By the time we finished last night I agreed with him.”

  “Let’s just get out of here. It’s the smart thing to do. I don’t want to be a headline in some damned newspaper I can’t even read.”

  “That’s just how I felt when Rossi dropped me off last night. I felt differently this morning.”

  “Didn’t get enough sleep or are you losing your marbles. You’ll get us killed like those Italians. You remember them don’t you?”

  “I remember them. I also remember the commitments Watson made to me when he hired me. I’ll bet the Italians heard the same kind of noise from their bosses when they were handed tickets to Brazil.”

  “Fine, Sam’s a slime. We can go back to good old civilized London where at least they stab you in the front. I don’t remember burning any bridges. I hear that Hansen hasn’t been doing so well since you left. If not him, someone else will be very happy to have you help kick old man Hansen’s ass.”

  “That’s a plan, but I’m not leaving here empty handed.”

  “We won’t be leaving empty handed. If we go now we’ll leave with our skin intact and with a future.”

  “Just listen for a minute please.”

  “Shit … this is where I get suckered … right?”

  “You’ve done alright with me haven’t you?”

  “Yea, a lot better than I expected … but I want to be around to spend it.”

  “Then listen. You said you wanted to know what was going on. I’ll tell you what I know. That’s all I can do.”

  “Alright, I’ll listen.”

  “To start, they, I think the guys last night are from the political right, I think far right. They think Watson is trying to look like a king maker. Remember the right has been in power since the military took over in 1964. They believe when we get publicly thrown under the bus it will somehow be linked with payoffs to someone high in Cardoso’s government. Lula using Sam’s money and the manufactured scandal will get him elected. Then Watson will get a sweetheart deal on BrasTel that he can wave in front of the money runners at the big funds.”

  “… and us?”

  “At best expelled from the country. Maybe jail and then expelled. Whatever happens in Watson’s plan I think we end up getting dirty.”

  “… or dead. Why aren’t we packing?”

  “It’s simple, I … we are going to sink the bastard before he torpedoes us and make some money doing it. We have the advantage because Watson doesn’t have a clue.”

  “He doesn’t need a clue he’s got all the money in the world.”

  “You’re wrong, he’s been rolling a snowball up hill. He’s stretched to the max. If this deal doesn’t close or worse, someone else gets it and for him the equity market will dry up overnight. When the deal dies or goes away it will crush Sam’s ability to raise a new round of bridge money. His only play will be to try to sell off what he overpaid for. It’ll be a bloodbath.”

  “He’s no fool. If we try anything he’ll get wind of it and we’ll be out in the cold. There are plenty of people who will happily step into our shoes and get the deal done for him.”

  “I know that.” Standing, “But, we’ve been here too long, know too much and shared too little. Someone new will have to go back too square one. Time will be against Sam and you kno
w deals don’t wait for anyone once they start breathing the public’s air.”

  “… and?”

  “According to Rossi’s friends we have time … several months at least. They say if the story hits the papers too early it will be forgotten by election time. There are too many scandals in the Brazilian press for any one of them to hold the public’s attention for more than a week or two.”

  Red-faced the muscles in her jaw working, “Why don’t I feel comforted?”

  Would I regret not telling her the whole story? “Let’s go. Shouldn’t we leave with a package just in case?”

  “Don’t worry, this place isn’t Saville Row but they’ve got lots of pretty plastic bags.”

  A mud splattered Land Rover Defender was waiting at eight. I hadn’t seen one of these relics of the old empire since I finished the last African deal we worked on for Hansen when we had to go out in the bush to a diamond mine as part of due diligence. The Defender is the simplest of the Land Rovers ruggedly built, usually assembled in bush factories from kits manufactured in England and designed to be maintained with the simplest of tools by mechanics without formal training. They were intended for hard service on rough roads or where there were no roads at all and where comfort was an unaffordable luxury. Square, upright, awkward, it seemed out of place in a modern city.

  After bouncing out of the first pot hole I fastened my seatbelt. By the third I had reaffirmed the seat was nothing more than plywood covered with canvas. We headed toward Morumbi and probably another long night being stared down at by long-dead emperors. Approaching the river Pinheiros we turned away from the Morumbi Bridge. The sign said ‘Marginal Oeste - Vila Lobos’.

  There hadn’t been a reason for me to travel west along the river before. From what I had read before coming to Brazil Vila Lobos was a new densely industrialized area squeezed in between rapidly rising foothills on one side and on the other a huge riverfront park that gave the barrio its name. I would have asked the driver for information but the engine and road noise in the un-insulated soft-topped cabin was deafening. I also was certain the driver, by careful selection, spoke no English.