Buying Brazil (Buying Brazil Trilogy Book 1) Page 18

  “That’s helpful, thank you.”

  “… as I was saying, there have been inquiries regarding your intentions. My responsibilities include responding to these types of inquiries. They now have been expanded to include acting as a channel for you to use to communicate with our share … no stakeholders.”

  “What about Brazilian securities laws? I would think all information should flow into the public domain via traditional media.”

  “Perhaps …”

  Pedro quietly inserted himself, “Please Juan, allow me try to answer that for my client. If BrasTel were a publicly owned entity with traded shares the disclosure laws of Brasil are essentially the same as the U.S. What may be different is government owned entities are defined within our Business Law as private companies and therefore are not subject to our public entity security regulations including disclosure standards. If you think about the matter this is a quite sensible situation. Most security laws’ principal focus is an attempt to protect people in trading situations. The protection may be focused on misleading information or the exclusion of all or certain investors from important information but in the broadest sense the goal remains protection. BrasTel’s shares are not traded so there is no need for trading protections. If BrasTel borrows it does so from the government and not from individual members of the public or publicly owned banks therefore there is also no need for trading protection in the debt area.”

  While Pedro was providing the legal lesson the question on my mind was how many important stakeholders were there and how many had I already met. They told me last night about today’s visit. Was the message being delivered today was that Batista is their contact and I was to stop trying to find any other ways to reach the real decision makers?

  Juan continued, “Perhaps but I must point out in this circumstance as with many others in Brasil stakeholders enjoy their privacy or are in positions where certain direct contacts could be, shall I say, misunderstood by others. BrasTel feels an obligation to provide a way to meet the needs of its stakeholders and friends.”

  Rubbing the tips of my steepled fingers in front of my lips I looked Batista directly in the eyes. Silence began filling the room. Batista’s eyes remained level while the silence deepened. Only the low hiss of the air conditioning was in competition with the street noises from far below the window.

  The Japanese had taught me the power of silence as a bargaining tool. Culturally westerners feel an uncomfortably compelling need to fill the silence and when giving in to the need for noise usually disclose more than they should. My eyes remained level and my voice silent.

  The corrosive power of silence finally ate through Juan’s control, “Sr. Carl I am sure you understand the need for discretion. My role is designed to protect everyone including you and your colleagues from potential difficulties. Your new ‘friends’ want to assure you they want it this way because it is best for everyone.”

  “Thank you for your concern about us. I will do my best to work within the framework you outlined. Who knows what future events may require but for the moment BrasTel’s approach seems quite reasonable.”

  “I am pleased you understand and see this ‘suggestion’ in a useful way. It will prove quite helpful to you in accomplishing your … goals.” He took out a business card, “I will put my personal cell phone and home numbers here for you. Please feel free to call me at any time.”

  “That is very kind of you.”

  “I live in Jardim Paulista and very rarely travel outside of São Paulo.”

  Looking at my watch, “Forgive me but I have some scheduled calls coming in. Robin could handle them for me but I would prefer to take them myself.”

  Pedro caught my eye and nodded in approval. “I think we are done Carl.”

  Juan stood, “Certainly … we came on such short notice.”

  “Thank you Juan, I look forward to working together.”

  They started for the door but Juan stopped, turned and with a slight bow, “Bom dia Sra. Robin.”

  After the front office door closed I looked at Robin, “It seems you made a conquest my dear.”

  “Knock it off … he was just being polite.”

  I took a legal pad off her desk and wrote ‘we’ll talk over lunch outside of here’. Then for our listening audience, “Find out where Skip is please.”

  “I’ll do my best but you know how he is, when he disappears he really disappears.”

  Chapter 11

  “Pedro Rossi is on the phone.”

  “Good afternoon Pedro. It was good to see you this morning.”

  “Yes … thank you. I thought I would follow up on this morning’s discussion.”

  “Good, I was wondering about Batista and why I should go around the CEO?”

  “Juan Batista is very well positioned. The fact that he has been instructed to be available to you should be considered quite important. If I may be allowed to try to read tea leaves … it has been decided in certain influential circles that ‘you’ are their first choice for BrasTel particularly if certain political worries should become reality.”

  “You make it sound like I am the buyer not Laser. What about Sam and there are still other bidders to worry about?”

  “Let me suggest those people are now for BrasTel and, as Juan says, its stakeholders to worry about. But, if I were you, I wouldn’t leave the worrying to them for very long. Worried people become less predictable as time passes and then there is the election.”

  “There’s a pile of deal things for me to worry about. The damn mountain’s tall enough to make a good ski slope.”

  “Such is life. I have faith in you my friend. From what I have been told you move faster the greater the pressure and you always finish first. Ate logo.”

  “Thanks, if that were only true I’d be a lot happier right now. There have been a lot of deals I’ve lost but BrasTel is not going to become one of them. I’m sure we’ll talk again soon. Take care …”

  I turned to look out on Av. Paulista outside my window. Its constant tangle of vehicles and crowds of people rushing on a thousand different personal or work chores reminded me of the Kowloon side in Hong Kong except there the streets were so much narrower. I bought Shelly’s engagement ring in Hong Kong. When she asked if I had brought her a present I said the silks were difficult because of sizes and the bold colors. The pearls were in so many colors I was confused and didn’t know what she would like. So, with a big sigh, I announced I had decided upon something small and absolutely colorless. Her look of disappointment vanished when I produced the small blue velvet ring box.

  She really loved the ring. Three carats emerald cut D color flawless, the stone seemed to capture all the light in a room. It lit up her face. Now all I could see was Watson’s dark scowl across his desk. I lost her. Now I was looking forward to losing him.

  During the last several days I spent too much time worrying about Watson and why he seemed worried about me. Whatever bull Skip was feeding him it wasn’t in my best interests. Sam’s contacts at the US trade mission also were most certainly supplying constant back-channel chatter and never had anything helpful to say. Then there was the story my new friends had told me about his political scheming. I couldn’t put the pieces together yet. Something was still missing.

  Robin walked in unnoticed, “Guess what, I found Skip. He said he’ll be here in an hour. What more could you want?”

  “Surprise … surprise.”

  “He said he’s been buried in some subterranean office at BrasTel for the last two days. I think he met some ‘sweetie’ at BrasTel and has been buried somewhere else.”

  “First, get his input for the weekly report. Then, I want to see him.”

  Right on schedule Skip was in my office looking a bit pale and worn. It wasn’t necessary to ask where he had been. “Good afternoon Skip. Did you give Robin what she needs for the weekly report?”

  “I did … sorry to be hard to find. The damn building must be built like a fortress. No signal.”


  “That’s Brazil. Some buildings fall down and others are built forever. Don’t worry about it. Maybe you should routinely call in on a land line just so we keep in touch. How’s the document production coming?”

  “Fine, no, let me correct that. Most of it seems fine. All the numbers and operating data are being produced without any hesitation. The accountants tell me it looks complete but they have to go through it to be sure. The corporate documents are the same and Rossi’s people say they’re holding back nothing. The capital budgets and schedules of significant commitments and contracts are outstanding although I’ve been told twice they would be ready at the end of the week, a week late. Our request to review corporate correspondence files has gone nowhere although again I have been told we’ll have access soon.”

  “Do you think they’re trying to hide something?”

  “I don’t know. If I were going to guess … they’re going slow waiting to see how we react to what’s been produced.”

  “Possibly, but keep up the pressure I don’t want to get in a time crunch.”

  “Robin said we are about on schedule.”

  “We are but I got an interesting call from Rossi today.” Then launching some disinformation into the pipeline north, “He said his friends inside BrasTel think we have the inside track as long as the price is okay. He thinks we could be ready to close in perhaps forty-five to at the most sixty days.”

  “That’s great. For some reason I was afraid it was going to drag on forever.”

  “You never know but Rossi is the cautious type. He asked me to keep it to myself so don’t let him know I filled you in. Robin doesn’t even know.”

  “I won’t say a word to anyone.”

  “I’m not worried. Get back to BrasTel in the morning and see if you can speed things up. I don’t want to be unprepared when the call from headquarters comes for us to get together for a discussion over this or that.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Skip left and I wondered how long it would take to hear from Sam. If he was really planning to throw me under a bus during the run-up to election, an accelerated schedule wouldn’t fit his plans and he would have to show his hand. If he didn’t then I’d have to start believing my Brazilian friends were playing with me for some reason of their own and a reasonable assessment of the personal risk to the three of us would shoot straight through the roof.

  “Robin, upload the weekly report to my laptop and tell José Carlos to meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll need a little more time on the report. What are the instructions for José?”

  “Just Haddock Lobo … Put the report on my e-mail, I’ll read it tonight and you can send it north tomorrow.”

  “It’ll be there before you go out to dinner.”

  “Thanks, I’m pleased to be so predictable. It makes things easier for you.”

  “Go look in the mirror. The dark circles around your eyes will tell you you’re not going out to play tonight.”

  She turned to walk out then turned back, “Everything’s okay isn’t it?”

  “Robin …”

  “Sure … just fine, everything is just fine.”

  The apartment door closing behind me sounded like escape. Robin was right, after the last few days I was beat. All I was interested in was CNN on cable TV and what was going on in the rest of the world. But, I didn’t see much of the news. The soft leather easy chair fit just a little too well. My eyes closed and then it didn’t take long to start drifting back in time. For some unknown reason my dream landed me at Oxford waiting for the decision of the Dons whether I was qualified to take up position at the near end of the line of illustrious alumni who changed the world’s legal practices at the Inns of Court. Years of work and study leading to those final hours of agony and worry. What would father say if the answer was no?

  There had to be an alternate plan. I had done a second in specialized banking law and an internship at Hansen’s. Yes, banking could be a good alternative. It was such a good alternative that during the week of waiting it became my primary career plan. When the Dons announced their decision father was elated until I announced Lord Hansen had made a very attractive offer that had been happily accepted.

  The family, particularly father, made the best of their disappointment saying banking would provide a good foundation for when I joined father in practice. Perhaps I should have joined him and built the kind of orderly life he and mother enjoyed. Now they were both gone. Shelly was also gone and I was here in a small flat near the other end of the earth surrounded by snarling jackals.

  Cows and kids … Maybe her dream of a farm in Kent had been the right dream for us both. I was still young enough to have kids and now money wasn’t a question. I had plenty and it was invested in ways that made it safe and untouchable. But it took two for kids. I hadn’t been serious about anyone since Shelly. Now there was Alana who wanted me to stay with her in Brazil but she belonged to Aranni. What did I really know about her other than she was beautiful and in bed could make me forget everything but her. She was exciting. Perhaps more so than any other women I had known but her life was in Brazil and I wanted to be far from the grasping tentacles of predators who saw themselves as the country’s protectors.

  The room was dark except for the flickering TV when my eyes were pushed open by complaints from an empty stomach. I quickly changed into simple sport clothes, put a credit card in my pocket along with fifty reais and locked my wallet, money and signet ring in the small safe I had installed before I moved in. Cellular and keys in hand I was out the door.

  The early night air still retained the heat of the day but with no sun and low humidity the evening air was more than comfortable. As I went through the Garden gate to the sidewalk the guard issued his usual “quidado Senhor” … be careful. It reminded me of Shelly telling me the same thing every time I left home. Amused I turned downhill toward the pools of glowing street lamp light separated by broad dark shadows from thick well-spaced street trees.

  A happy, noisy crowd was on the corner in front of Margarhita Pizza. Brazilians loved their pizza and their families. Both came together during long dinners and lengthy partings …

  “Relogio Senhor”, my hand went to my wrist. Shit, I had forgotten to take off my watch. How many times had I been warned wearing a watch on the street was an invitation to trouble? “Rapidamente”, emphasized by the glint of the street light reflecting off a large knife. “… seu denheiro”, in a raspy voice from behind accompanied by the sharp point of another knife biting into my back, launching adrenalin into my blood, tightening every muscle into readiness.

  Mind racing, I started unbuckling my watch while searching for a way to escape. The crowd across the street was so close but I was lost to them in deep shadow behind a parked car. I had taken so little money they’d think I was trying to hide it. In that moment I felt my control weaken. “Momenchinho Senhores. Favor!”

  Leaning forward away from the knife at my back I made a show of reaching for my money but was preparing to run. Carelessly fumbling with and then dropping my watch to distract them. The knife bit deeper into my back, I felt blood running and I froze. My heart started pounding driven by adrenalin fighting against the inability to move. “Agora!” hissed like a snake about to strike. How could I give them what I didn’t have?

  Two explosions bounced off the stone wall next to my head, my face was wet from a hot spray. A sickening sound of what could be nothing else but two bodies collapsing onto the sidewalk ignited fear and I lunged forward but a hand came out of the dark slamming into my chest driving out my breath. I couldn’t breathe. A harsh voice in broken English, “Go … via casa Senhor … see nothing. Entender?”

  “Yes … I’ll”, but I couldn’t move. Another hand came from the dark shoving me uphill but my legs wouldn’t respond. I began to sag toward the sidewalk only to be roughly pulled to my feet and violently shoved again. “Via … go.” This time I took a step and, regaining control,
another. I made it back through the gate, the elevator, my door … everything now a confused blur. The bathroom lights revealed a ghostly, blood splattered face starring back at me from the mirror. My temples pounding as if they would burst, my knotted stomach violently in rebellion. Retching, vomit, my legs turned to water, the floor came rushing up to catch me and then nothing.

  “… up, are you alright? Can you sit up Sr. Carl”, penetrating the fog. “Sr. Carl are you alright? They told me you were not hurt.”

  The pale face of Juan Batista floated over me. I tried to get up but couldn’t. “Where …?”

  “You are in your apartment. Please stay where you are, I have medico … a doctor coming.”

  “… what happened?”

  “I received a call ten minutes ago, fortunately, I was at home.”

  “What happened, the men who …?

  “Someone tried to rob you. Do you remember?”

  “Yes … the police, who called them?”

  “There were no police. It is better if nothing about tonight is reported to the police. Their questions would be difficult for you to answer without drawing ‘others’ into the situation. That would be very unfortunate. It all has been cleared away by now. Your building guard has been paid to forget what he may have seen. Ah, the medico is here.”

  Batista and the doctor exchanged a few words in Portuguese and then the doctor turned his attention to me. “Senhor, do you have pain anywhere?”

  “My head.”

  His hands slowly felt my head working gently down from the crown around to chin. “You have a bump on the back of your head but not so big. Were you hit?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “They tell me you were found unconscious on the floor. Do you remember how you got here?”

  “I came back after … I was upset”.

  “Yes …?”

  “… after … the blood, it was all over me.”