Buying Brazil (Buying Brazil Trilogy Book 1) Page 8

  Salés acknowledged Skip with a knowing smile. It was obvious there had been some discussion between Sam and Salés about Skip’s presence on the team.

  “We have coffee and a light breakfast. I think we can do some initial planning while we eat and then get to work.”

  “Robin, call Sam and tell him I want to talk. Also tell him we’ve met with Salés.”

  Moments and a few line clicks later, “How’d it go?”

  “I’m fine, thank you … yourself?”

  “Alright, you made your point. What about Salés?”

  “Good meeting; we set up all the working arrangements and the active review has started. We’ll go on-site tomorrow or the next day.”

  “How long do you think?”

  “The high level review will take two to three weeks and then another two or three to drill down into the problem areas.”

  “That’s two weeks too long. I heard the Italians are shopping for capital in London. It shouldn’t take much more than a few days to reach an understanding and then they’ll be breathing down your neck. We can’t lose this one.”

  “I’ve still got some friends in London. Maybe a couple of calls will slow them down.”

  “I don’t know. It could do more harm than good. Someone could start spreading the word we’re trying to steal the deal. That kind of rumor could result in someone stepping in to put up cash and bank an auction for a piece of the deal.”

  “It’s a possibility, but it’s equally possible the whole Italian thing is a ploy by the Ministry of the Interior to have us move too fast and pay too much because we missed something important.”

  “Anything’s possible; what we have to do is get control fast. We do that and everyone else can go pound sand. There are always some price adjustments at closing as long as we write the contract right. Your job is to shut the damned door quick. You got it …?”

  “Right …”

  “Call me in two or three days; Monday’s good. I’ll see if I can run down the Italian game. Anything else …?”

  “Yeah, the military seems to be interested in BrasTel. Ask your friends at State if there’s something we should know.”

  “What do you mean interested?”

  “I don’t know but we keep bumping in to them.”

  “Considering the country’s history that shouldn’t surprise you.”

  “Doesn’t feel right; I’ve done deals in countries run by the military before and this is something else. Doesn’t feel like the post-dictatorship places I’ve worked in either.”

  “I’ve got another call. Remember, Brazil’s military gave up control slowly and voluntarily. That’s probably what’s different in the feel. Forget the damned military and concentrate on BrasTel. I’ll call State; talk to you on Monday unless I get something.”

  It was easy for Sam sitting in New York to say forget the military. “Right, I’ll call you if there’s anything new on this end.”

  Outside the office door Robin and José Carlos were huddled over a newspaper he was translating for her. “Carl, you see why I got an armored car for you.”

  “Why …?”

  “Its here in the paper. Early this morning, three Italian businessmen were carjacked on the Marginal on their way to a meeting. They must have resisted and got themselves shot up. Two are dead and the third is critical.”

  “Does it say anything about what they were doing here?”

  “No, nothing other than their briefcases were ransacked and their watches and money taken. The Military Police are investigating.”

  I leaned over their shoulders and looked at the ‘Jornal de Tarde’ front page pictures, graphic pictures taken up close before the bodies had been moved. “The armored car was a good idea Robin. Where on the Marginal …?”

  José looked down at the pictures, “It doesn’t say. I think it is near where the Joquei Clube is across the river. If that is where they were, it is in Itaim near where you had your first lunch.”

  “It was a busy area. It looked like a safe business district to me.”

  “It is but early in the morning the Marginal highway along Rio Pinheiros can be very bad. People are trying to get to work early in the morning and they see nothing. They are smart and do not want to see anything.”

  “Why would foreign businessmen be there early in the morning?”

  “There are new hotels north along the river. There is also a new district for young business. It is far from where most business is done. The new buildings have some foreign owned banks and some foreign technology companies.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The Decorator and Design Center is there. Maybe they were at ‘D & D’. Italian things are very popular here in Brasil.”

  “Maybe …,” I was cut off by the phone.

  Robin picked up the phone, listened and handed it to me, “It’s Sam again.”

  “I talked to State. Their trade people said the Italians are further along than we thought. They got people on the ground and set up a formal office in some north central part of the city. The U.S. Trade Office in São Paulo just reported three people from that office got shot up this morning.”

  “It made the local paper but didn’t say who they worked for.”

  “It’ll certainly slow them down for a while. Could be the edge we needed.”

  “You’re all heart Sam, two of them are dead.”

  “It’s just business, don’t get sappy on me. We don’t know any of them. Do you know where our Trade Office is? Get over there and see what you can find out. The Head of Station is John Samuels.”

  “I’ll make a social call on him as soon as we’re done.”

  “Good, we’re done.”

  “Yes, Senhor Carl, I know the place. It is on Al. Casa Branca at Rua Estado Unidos … grey glass box inside a steel fence … very cold to look at.”

  “How long?”

  “Just three blocks on Paulista and then down the hill; it will be no more than twenty minutes.”

  An hour and a half later I had finished with Samuels. He filled me in on the morning’s shooting providing details that were known only to the police and certain foreign diplomats who might have a direct interest because of the presence of their nationals in Brazil. What worried me most was the police characterized the events as an ambush disguised as a robbery. They theorized that one or all of the three victims had ‘disappointed’ one of São Paulo’s powerful organized crime gangs. They said drugs were probably involved but I had my own theory and, if I was right, Robin, Skip and I would have to start being a lot more careful.

  Ambush this morning; had I dismissed what had happened on Rua Bela Cintra last evening too quickly? Still, it was hard to believe that someone may have shot at me and it wasn’t random. A metallic taste filled my mouth accompanied by a cold, gnawing uneasiness. Sensations that had been unknown strangers but were now reaching into every corner of my consciousness.

  “Senhor Carl, where do you want to go?”

  I wanted to go directly to the airport. More than anything I didn’t want Robin to see how upset I was. She could read me like a book. “The office, no it’s late, the apartment. I’m calling Robin to tell her I’m going home and she should wait for you to take her to the hotel.”

  The late afternoon sun casting long shadows together with the help of a slow breeze softened the heat in Aranni’s garden. A fine mist sprayed inward from pipes hidden near the top of its high walls further cooling the air with its almost instant evaporation. Trees and flowers bathed with gentle rain from an invisible underground sprinkler system. Outside the garden wall the temperature had only recently begun falling from just below one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. Inside the garden was comfortably mild for the two engaged in a hushed conversation certain that the not-too-well hidden ring of uniformed, heavily armed guards would keep prying ears away.

  “What you asked to be done I have had done.” Then, almost fearfully, “I am uncertain why you wanted the second half of the assignment left un
finished but, it is exactly as you requested General.”

  In a low icy hiss, “Is there a question?”

  “No General. An order is never questioned. I worry that I may not do exactly as you wish if … if I … if …”

  “Do not worry. You will know if am displeased.”

  Sweat was running underneath a fine Italian linen shirt. “With your permission General, I will return to Vila Lobos.”

  “Yes, go. Were the ones who carried out your instructions moved to Bahia immediately. Have them given ten thousand Reals and tell them they are to disappear into Amazonia for three months. Impress upon them they are to travel with all careful haste. I want no problems from them, none. Is it understood? If there are any … I will look to you.”

  “I understand General.” Mopping his brow with a crumpled handkerchief, “There will be none. It will be as you order. I will make the arrangements myself.”

  “See to it. You may go.”

  Watching the nervous sergeant march away Aranni thought how weak the man looked out of uniform, “Cafe favor.”

  The smoke from his cigar curled upward until washed from the air by the water vapor evaporating above the garden. He turned the situation over in his mind even though certain of his absolute command. Should I tell the others tonight about these events … it was a command decision? They understand the need to contain risk quickly. It is the only way we can protect Brasil and each other. As in the past, action and protection are still two sides of the same coin.

  Children’s laughter filtered through the trees from the other side of the garden as if it were necessary to remind Aranni why his vigilance is necessary. There was no cost too high … none. The future must be protected from the diseases of the past. Sometimes bullets are the best vaccination … the only sure method. A smile touched his lips. I will keep ‘them’ safe, it is still my duty.

  Not waiting for coffee he walked toward the sound of children, his grandchildren. They were the future of Brasil and Brasil was their future. Keeping old alliances strong was more difficult as age and wealth increased. “Tonight I will strengthen their resolve once again.”

  The maid left the shutters closed to keep the apartment cool. Thin ribbons of light reaching through the shutters painting glowing stripes on the floor. Sitting in the near darkness Carl could sense the room closing around him. His eyes darted from one shuttered window to the other … then back. He went to the bedroom, peering through the shutter slats down to the street below and remembered the waiting old car yesterday. “Had it been waiting for me? I went the other way, had it gone around the block?” Next, the front door checking the lock and then the servant’s entrance … both locked.

  Back to the living room again and sagging once again into the deep leather chair head in his hands. The room darkened as night reached across the city. Night, it had now become the time when risk replaced reason filling streets with the imagined and the unseen. The mechanical thud of the elevator’s heavy doors then a siren wailed into the night quickening his pulse. His empty stomach growled. His hunger an unwanted feeling pushing him to go out. “They could be waiting. They know where I go, I can’t go out.” His mother’s voice reaching out from somewhere in time, “We’re all afraid at times; it’s what we do next that matters.” Straightening up in the seat, “No, I can’t hide like a frightened child.”

  Memories of his mother’s stories about his two grandfathers cut through the deep fog filling his thoughts. Both from small villages in the Midlands. Her father was with Montgomery in South Africa. His father’s father was in Burma. Both had been mentioned in dispatches by their commanding officers. Both of their obituaries had been prominently placed in The Times’ daily reports of the war dead. When his father’s turn came he left his young wife and newborn son and went to Vietnam. He also had been mentioned in dispatches although Carl wasn’t yet old enough to read the obituary in The Times.

  Mother remarried a man who respected father’s memory. He had father’s Victoria Cross along with Her Majesty’s Royal Warrant framed and hung them prominently in the family’s sitting room so all of Carl’s school mates would know his father was a hero. Stepfather had been more than successful, he had become politically prominent and used his wealth and position to make sure Carl received the best education and benefited from the most useful open doors. He often said all England owed a debt to Carl’s family that could never be repaid. It was a debt Carl carried forward with him.

  The warmth of street lights reached up into the room as the shutter slid open turning to a soft comforting golden glow filling the ceiling. Below noisy couples on their way to dinner giggled and cuddled as young couples do everywhere. The usual old man coaxed his little white dog to take care of its nightly business. There was no fear on the street. But, the remnants of fear clung to the darkened corners until the bright light from Carl’s bedside lamp finished driving it out.

  “Is it not a beautiful morning Senhor Carl? The rain last night washed the air.”

  “I didn’t hear it rain. How late was it?”

  “You must have been very much asleep. There was thunder and lightening from two to three and the rain lasted until almost five.”

  “Yes, I must have been sleeping.”

  “We say that this kind of sleep comes to those who have no worries.”

  “Sure … no worries; I want you to do something for me José. Can you find someone without the whole city knowing about it?”

  “Perhaps … but São Paulo is a big city so I will have to ask questions. Who do you want me to find?”

  “I want you to find a woman.”

  “Ah, the city is full of women. It will be no problem. Loira, morena … desculpe Senhor, blonde or brunette, short or tall and naturally, young.”

  “No José, no just any women. There is a particular woman I want you to find.”

  “Her name …?”

  “I only know her given name, Alana.”

  “Without a family name she could be anyone. Where did you meet her?”

  “Café Antique. I think they know her there. She is a bru … morena with green eyes and almost as tall as I am. I’m almost six feet so she has to be one point seven or eight meters tall.”

  “She has to be from the south. The women grow taller there.”

  “Parana is in the South isn’t it?”

  We pulled away from the curb, “Yes Senhor. Do you know anything else about her, maybe her friends?”

  “No.”

  “… where she works?”

  “I think she might work for Senator Aranni.”

  The car jerked as if José was avoiding something in the road then turned right on Al. Lorena.

  “The office is the other way.”

  “I will go on different roads this morning. You will see more of São Paulo. We will go to Rebouças and then Paulista.”

  After a three blocks of neat apartments the buildings began to look tired and by the time we got to Ave. Rebouças they were approaching shabby. Uncharacteristically, José wasn’t providing his block by block tourist information.

  “Something wrong José?”

  “No Senhor, just the traffic.”

  I found Rebouças on the map José kept on the shelf below the glove box. It was one of the major roads crossing the city from downtown ending at one of the bridges over the river Pinheiros. On the other side of the river the up-market suburb of Morumbi covered the foothills forming part of the basin holding São Paulo. This morning, like every other morning, the bus-clogged traffic was creeping forward slower than pedestrians walking on the sidewalks in front of narrow, dimly lit shops offering everything an office worker would need.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good choice José.”

  “It is sometimes better to go the long way.”

  “We won’t be able to turn left on Paulista when we get to Campinas. How will you get to the office?”

  “I will turn before and go through the back to Campinas. We will reach Paulista on the o
ffice side.”

  “It seems like the long way …”

  Traffic slowed to another stop in the underpass tunnel connecting Rebouças with Paulista. Its sidewalks filled with squatters huddled around cooking fires smoldering below art murals. Its formerly bare walls covered by garish murals painted by São Paulo’s countless street artists in protest of something or perhaps everything.

  “You should find another woman Senhor.”

  “What …?”

  “They are not good people. Aranni and his friends are no one’s friend. São Paulo has many beautiful women; I will find one of the most beautiful for you.”

  “I know about Aranni but I want to find her. If you want, I’ll ask someone else.”

  Traffic started to move and an uncomfortable silence returned to the car. José Carlos had to be in his late fifties and lived through the military period. Obviously there were scars. I wondered how deep they were.

  Inching forward onto Av. Paulista, “I will ask Senhor but …”

  “… brigado.”

  “Robin, get me Pedro Rossi. Good morning. Where’s Skip?”

  “Good morning boss. Skip is at BrasTel going over the first production of documents to see what’s missing. Rossi must be a late riser; he’s never in this early.”

  “Leave a message. I want to see him at his office today if possible. I’m going to be on the phone for a while …”

  There was a three-hour difference between São Paulo and Vienna at this time of year. Lunch was late in Vienna and with luck Gunter would still be at the Bank.

  “Bank Schmidt, Grosz Gott.”

  “Grosz Gott. Bitte, Herr Von Salzbeck. Ich heisze Carl Matthews.”

  “Danke, bitte warten.”

  “Carl, it has been too long, how are you? Are you here in Vienna?”

  “No, I’m on the other side of the ocean. Everything’s fine thanks how are you?”

  “… so, a little older, a little poorer and maybe a little smarter.”

  “Am I supposed to believe that?”

  “Ahh … you know Vienna. We eat, we talk and then we eat some more.”