Buying Brazil (Buying Brazil Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Pedro put a hand on my shoulder stopping me, “What do you think, are we still in Brasil?”

  As he spoke the door was slid open by a kneeling woman wearing a light blue flowered kimono. A golden glow spilled into the street, “Kanbanwa”.

  Garbage ripening in the warm wet night air spread an unsavory perfume recalling Macao and the oldest of Hong Kong’s backstreets. Shuttered storefronts marked by bold Asian ideograms crowded in on us from both sides the same as in Tokyo’s poorer neighborhoods. “To be truthful, I’m not quite sure.”

  We walked through the narrow, crowded restaurant filled with cigarette smoke and beer to a corridor lined with private tatami rooms at the back. The curious faces turning toward us as we passed had been all oriental. Entering the tatami room, I marveled at how similar it was to one in the Ginza Chome near Hansen’s Tokyo offices where dozens of my business lunches and dinners had passed almost unnoticed while I was lost in deal details. Even the dimensions of the tatami room felt the same. The only compromise to Brazil was under the low table where a foot well provided patrons the ability to sit in chair-like fashion if they didn’t want to use the traditional cross-legged style on cushions most Japanese learned to use from their earliest years. The polished bamboo and unmarked white rice paper shoji screens enclosing the small space shut out the restaurant allowing the cramped room to become uncomfortably linked to Japan’s past with its deadly undercurrents of power, politics, greed and violence.

  “An interesting choice Pedro.”

  “I hope you enjoy it. I think the food is good and of course our privacy is assured.”

  Surrounded by Juan on the left side of the bare wooden table and Pedro on the right, I sat facing the door and the upcoming ritual with which all traditional Japanese meals were served. The seating also allowed one of them to watch my face and body language while the other talked. After years of negotiations I was certain I would make these customary sources of revelations meet expectations while listening or telling them little and nothing new.

  The shoji slid open. A waitress placed a tray containing three cups and a teapot on the raised floor just inside the room. In traditional style, she stepped in and kneeled while closing the screen slowly as dictated by centuries of tradition. The three of us watched as she poured tea with studied movements eloquently displaying youthful grace that did not fit with her heavily lined face.

  After the shoji closed behind her Pedro said we didn’t have to order. The chef had been asked to choose for us when the reservation was made.

  “In Japan Pedro that is considered the highest compliment for a chef.”

  “In São Paulo it is the most practical way if you are not Japanese. When I first started coming to this place I tried to choose my own food. There was no menu in Portuguese so a waitress explained the selection for me. It did not take long for me to see they told me only what they thought a barbarian like me would eat. All the most interesting things passing to other tables were never in the selections explained to me.”

  “All westerners have similar stories about trying to eat in Japan. Sooner or later most throw themselves on the mercy of the restaurant and just eat what’s served.”

  Not looking very happy Juan said, “I suppose it is the efficient thing to do. In Madrid a chef prefers to prepare your favorite and not his specialty.”

  Pedro and I looked at Juan, fastidiously dressed, perfect posture even though there was no back on his seat. We were quite sure for him letting someone else choose his food was giving up too much control.

  Juan started the expected inquisition, “Tell me something about Sam Watson please. Does he ever leave New York? Is he a good husband and father? By reputation he is a crafty fox but is he intelligent?”

  “I’ve only worked for him a short time. It’s been less than a year. He approached me and I’ll be frank, he’s a damned good salesman. I’d say he understands people better than most and it gives him an edge. How smart is he … I’m not really sure. He’s careful about not showing much and says very little. He’s hard to read.”

  “Not typical for a North American. People say he has a terrible temper.”

  “Maybe … maybe not. I think he uses anger as a way of keeping people off balance and at a safe distance.”

  “… his family?”

  “Again, I don’t have a lot of information. I know he talks to his son a lot but it could just be his way of watching us. When we talk he never mentions family and rarely asks about Skip.”

  “We need to understand Watson much better than we seem to. We have to be able to anticipate his next move once we …”

  The shoji slid open … two waitresses balancing trays filled with small plates. The first of a seemingly endless assortment of masterfully presented portions of fish or vegetables carefully laid before us over the next two hours. As demanded by Japanese tradition, the meal was accompanied by too much Saki warmed just enough to make it seem deceptively benign. Long before the last plates were served our conversation had moved from Watson to football, then the politics of the upcoming election and how Brazil was naturally going to be a world leader. By meal’s end the Saki had transformed us into a happy lot seemingly without a care among us. As with intellectual university students cloistered in dim, smoke-filled cafés near Amsterdam’s canals or just off Vienna’s St. Stephen’s Platz, by the end of the night we had completely sorted out the world’s problems.

  Chapter 12

  “Matthews said nothing about the monitoring center … nothing? The only thing he asked about was ownership. He’s told us nothing! We need to be absolutely certain about what he thinks and without question understands the need to preserve both it and its secrecy.”

  Luna leaped upon the opening left by Armando Lopes, “I agree but there is no way to know such things. He’s a banker and a foreigner. Neither can be trusted. We have no choice. He should be removed without any further delay before he compromises us in some unnecessary and completely disastrous way.”

  Aranni expected Luna to start with his usual tactic … the least favorable position. He always turned to violence and not reason as the answer to any problem much like a mob of peasants marching in the streets. “Adriano, it was clear we could make no use of the Italians so what was necessary was done without hesitation. More importantly, it was clear we could not trust them. With them was no other possible solution.”

  “It is always the safest way!”

  “Not always. With BrasTel we have to do what is necessary to preserve our window into people’s unguarded conversations. We need to find someone who will assist us in continuing this work. It is possible that Matthews could be the one and do it willingly.”

  “… but Ignacio he is nothing but a functionary. Watkins, the one in New York is the problem. We should cut off the arm that is in our way. The message will be felt by the body in New York.”

  “You are right Frederico; he is a functionary but an unusual one. He has intelligence and contacts. He knows how to make a deal work because he knows how to measure people. He knows how to listen and his eyes are acute enough to see opportunity. I think Matthews now believes he has made a mistake joining Watson and is trying to find a way to get out from under Watson’s yoke and make money doing it. Tell me Adriano, why else would he meet an old banking colleague in a place where no one from their worlds would go?”

  “You are speculating, no more. Matthews would not have the stomach for such a thing. That is why he works for others who do.”

  “Of course I am speculating my dear friend. The outcome of careful speculation is gain. If I am right, in this case we will gain protection for an important asset.”

  “Remember, speculation can also lead to losses. It is a chance we should not take.”

  “I have learned a lot in the last several days. It comforts me that Matthews shows us very little. He understands discretion. He understands how to work in the background out of sight. He has a depth of resources we had not expected. He is not easily pushed t
o panic with its careless mistakes and clearly knows how to keep his mouth shut. We agreed to two weeks and then a re-evaluation of the situation. The time has not passed so we are being premature.”

  “Our risk grows larger every day. The election comes closer and if our friends do not win the Presidency again it may be too late.”

  “It is for this reason we need an alternative plan. I think we may be able to form an alternative plan if we are patient a little longer. Shall we move on?”

  The sound of Luna’s hand banging the desk echoed over the speakerphone drowned out the water bubbling in some unseen place close by in Aranni’s garden, “No Ignacio. We must know more or act now. Why do you speculate about Matthews and his plan?”

  “I have not assembled the pieces yet.”

  “That is not an answer. In battle you cannot wait to know everything. If you do, you will know everything about your own defeat.”

  “Your wisdom is as sound today as when we learned it at the Military Academy. I assure you I am not trying to learn everything. My intuition tells me Matthews feels he cannot trust his boss. Our friends told him the truth about Watson trying to meddle in the Presidential election and Matthews found confirmation for himself by using what else but the telephone while we listened. Intuition also tells me Matthews feels caught between us and Watson and is not very happy about it. Lastly, you may not believe it but I do not think Matthews is frightened by either Watson or us. He is certainly not happy about his exposed position and that is pressing him to strike out but in a very measured way.”

  “So …? Is that all we are to use in deciding our next step. What if he strikes at us?”

  “There is more. It has become clear Matthews has changed tactics. I have little doubt he has gone on the offensive in order to protect himself and regain what he believes is control. That is why there was a secret meeting in your little UN protectorate Adriano.”

  “You think he is arranging financing to buy BrasTel himself. You are crazy Ignacio … he has no standing!”

  “Possibly, but remember the English are a strange people with a history of winning against the impossible.”

  “Speculation, intuition and ancient history, now I know you are crazy. But, I have heard it said many times the English look at the United States and others as still their colonies. It is not a reasonable way to look at the world. It seems true they never know when a cause is lost … strange people.”

  “Adriano, understand …”

  “I don’t want to understand. You and your damned intuition make me more than a little crazy my friend. Damn you and thank God for you. If it wasn’t for your sixth sense, we would all be dead and buried years ago along with our country. It’s hard to argue against your mystic vapors. Sometimes I think you are an Amazon bruxa, a witch with spells and potions and a bag of bones that reveals the future.” When the strained laughter died down Luna turned serious, “You have a perfect record of being right Ignacio. Please remember my dear friend, perfection gets harder and harder to maintain and the cost of failure is higher now than ever before because we have come so far.”

  “I am aware of the cost of failure. I see it every time I look at our grandchildren; yours and mine playing together in happy innocence. They are the reason we did and will continue to do what is … necessary.”

  Silence came from the small tinny speaker and filled the small office veranda … each remembering their road to today. Each remembering the comrades who were no longer with them. Remembering the nights when there was no sleep, no safety, nothing but the fear of an assassin’s bullet fired by a fanatical enemy or the man standing next to him. Aranni somehow lived through four attempts on his life, Luna two but there were those less lucky … dozens of close friends and colleagues. Fear from the past, fear of the future infected each of the four who survived until today. They were older and smarter but each knew time had taken its toll.

  Armando Lopes’ tired voice was the first to cut the silence, “My friends, our professors tell me the election is lost. They talk about statistics and scientific sampling whatever that is. The results leave little room for question. In the next few months Lula will get stronger with the growing middle class. Together with his popularity among the lower classes it means he will win a majority of the popular vote in the first round. He will be president. It will be the first election since we … our party will not be in power. We can take no risk with any of our safeguards. Ignacio, we have to be sure any risk we take is absolutely necessary and cannot be avoided.”

  “What do you want Armando? Do you want to have Lula removed and set us back 20 years? Do you want to have the Englishman removed only to be replaced by another?”

  “Neither of those is an answer. But, if both the Englishman and Watson’s son were dealt with the father would lose his taste for BrasTel. Perhaps the deal would become poisoned by rumors. You know bankers are superstitious. It is a weakness we can exploit.”

  “The father might lose his taste for the deal. But, for all we know he might not care about his son and just moves forward with another team. Maybe he loves his son and become a dangerous wounded animal that uses all of his resources to turn Brasil upside down looking for plots and enemies.”

  “God in his wisdom gave you a golden tongue Ignacio but I have listened to it for too long. We are all not the men we used to be. It is time for another voice to protect us from ourselves and our past. It is time for someone else to protect the future.”

  Before Aranni could answer Lucatelli was on his feet driven by years of bickering and innuendo between him and Lopes. He bent across the table his patrician Roman nose inches from Lopes’ face, “Damn you old man, you have lost what little nerve you ever had.” Grabbing a handful of Lopes’ silver hair and yanking his head up until their eyes were level with each other’s, “Go to your fazenda and take all your family with you,” spit with venom through clenched teeth. “Do not come back to São Paulo or Rio again until it is in your casket.”

  Lopes sagged down into his chair holding up a shaking hand between he and Lucatelli, “I meant no …”

  “You meant every word. It is time for you to leave this council.” Lucatelli’s eyes blazing, “Leave alive now or be sent back to your family dead!”

  Aranni sat motionless … silent. He had expected Lopes to fall apart sooner than later. Lopes was the oldest when they accepted the responsibility to do what must be done and the years since then had not been kind to him. Aranni also knew the decades old feud between Lopes and Lucatelli would one day burst into unquenchable flames one violent and last time. Dropping his eyes Aranni knew it was the time for Lopes to be silenced … forever if need be. Honorable, faithful and steadfast Lopes after so many years of service could no longer be saved from what he had become.

  The days following dinner in Liberdade were productive and surprisingly quiet. There was nothing from Sam and less from my new friends. Robin, Skip and I spent hours around tables piled with documents reading certified translations of key agreements and contracts that finally arrived from BrasTel. As is customary in deal making when the meat was delivered it was purposefully lost in boxes of paper that roughly fell into one or another of our requests and of little use other than inflicting paper cuts as we hastily brushed them aside.

  Robin updated the deal model for changes in the money market … foreign exchange and interest rates and it was now pointing towards weakening of the theoretical purchase price but fortunately it remained within a predefined range that included our target price. Holding on to a consistent deal story and most importantly our price range in news releases and required disclosures was more than just important, it was next to critical. In deals where there was a lot of interest from the international financial press like Lazer and BrasTel, if the deal story started moving around uncertainty was created and smart money started to worry. Then if things didn’t settle down in a hurry, money would run from the deal like it had the plague.

  Nights had also returned to a comfortable
routine, dinner, work and sleep. Troubled sleep; haunted by disturbing images, two gunshots and the sound of two bodies. By Thursday night I resigned myself the events of that horrible night might fade over time but they would permanently be with me. No, not the fear I’d felt. Not that. It was the first time I had faced a real threat and was forced to deal with the frailty of life. Then there was the climax. That single moment when my life had been spared and two others were ended with the ease of snuffing out a candle.

  In the clarity of each night I also reaffirmed distrust of my new friends. They had swept away all sign of two lives with less care than discarding yesterday’s newspaper. I believed their threats but I now understood how easy it would be for them to be turned into reality. Most troubling, the question casting a shadow over my every thought … would they rid themselves of me, the living evidence of their scheming with the same ease once their plans for BrasTel became reality? In response I armored myself with the well-developed belief that whatever they were thinking I would stay a step ahead and would leave Brazil with Robin very much alive, a lot richer. Yes, I had promised that to her and to myself but then, in the stillness of the grey early mornings there was haunting worry … was getting out just a naïve dream?

  Friday morning traffic was the worst of the week. It was as if everyone woke up remembering what they had forgotten to do during the week. The usual twenty-minute ride to the office could become as much as an hour. “José, go down to Oscar Freire and turn right. We’ll have coffee until things ease up.”