Eduardo’s next appointment was an unavoidable courtesy call on the Brazilian Ambassador for lunch. He hated such functions, for he believed embassies to be fit only for cocktail parties and discussion of out-of-date trivia, neither of which he cared for. The food in such establishments was invariably bad and the company worse. It turned out to be no different on this occasion and the only profit (Eduardo considered everything in terms of profit and loss) to be derived from the encounter was the information that Manuel Rodriguez was on a short list of three for the building of the new port in Lagos and was expecting to have an audience with the President on Friday if he was awarded the contract. By Thursday morning that will be a short list of two and there will be no meeting with the President, de Silveira promised himself, and decided that that was the most he was likely to gain from the lunch—until the Ambassador added:
“Rodriguez seems most keen on seeing you awarded the new city contract at Abuja. He’s singing your praises to every minister he meets. Funny,” the Ambassador continued, “I always thought you two didn’t see eye to eye.”
Eduardo made no reply as he tried to fathom what trick Rodriguez could be up to by promoting his cause.
Eduardo spent the afternoon with the Minister of Finance and confirmed the provisional arrangements he had made with the Governor of the bank. The Minister of Finance had been forewarned by the Governor what he was to expect from an encounter with Eduardo de Silveira and that he was not to be taken aback by the Brazilian’s curt demands. De Silveira, aware that this warning would have taken place, let the poor man bargain a little and even gave way on a few minor points that he would be able to tell the President about at the next meeting of the Supreme Military Council. Eduardo left the smiling minister believing that he had scored a point or two against the formidable South American.
That evening, Eduardo dined privately with his senior advisers, who themselves were already dealing with the ministers’ officials. Each was now coming up with daily reports about the problems that would have to be faced if they worked in Nigeria. His chief engineer was quick to emphasize that skilled labor could not be hired at any price, because the Germans had already cornered the market for their extensive road projects. The financial advisers also presented a gloomy report, of international companies waiting six months or more for their checks to be cleared by the central bank. Eduardo made notes on the views they expressed but never ventured an opinion himself. His staff left him a little after eleven and he decided to take a stroll around the hotel grounds before retiring to bed. On his walk through the luxuriant tropical gardens he only just avoided a face-to-face confrontation with Manuel Rodriguez by darting behind a large Iroko plant. The little man passed by champing away at his gum, oblivious to Eduardo’s baleful glare. Eduardo informed a chattering gray parrot of his most secret thoughts: By Thursday afternoon, Rodriguez, you will be on your way back to Brazil with a suitcase full of plans that can be filed under “abortive projects.” The parrot cocked its head and screeched at Eduardo as if it had been let in on his secret. Eduardo allowed himself a smile and returned to his room.
Colonel Usman arrived on the dot of eight forty-five again the next day and Eduardo spent the morning with the Minister of Supplies and Cooperatives—or lack of them, as he commented afterward to his private secretary. The afternoon was spent with the Minister of Labor checking over the availability of unskilled workers and the total lack of skilled operatives. Eduardo was fast reaching the conclusion that despite the professed optimism of the ministers concerned, this was going to be the toughest contract he had ever tackled. There was more to be lost than money if the whole international business world stood watching him fall flat on his face. In the evening his staff reported to him once again, having solved a few old problems and unearthed some new ones. Tentatively, they had come to the conclusion that if the present regime stayed in power, there need be no serious concern over payment, as the President had earmarked the new city as a priority project. They had even heard a rumor that the army would be willing to lend-lease part of the Service Corps if there turned out to be a shortage of skilled labor. Eduardo made a note to have this point confirmed in writing by the Head of State during their final meeting the next day. But the labor problem was not what was occupying Eduardo’s thoughts as he put on his silk pajamas that night. He was chuckling at the idea of Manuel Rodriguez’s imminent and sudden departure for Brazil. Eduardo slept well.
He rose with renewed vigor the next morning, showered and put on a fresh suit. The four days were turning out to be well worth while and a single stone might yet kill two birds. By eight forty-five he was waiting impatiently for the previously punctual colonel. The colonel did not show up at eight forty-five and had still not appeared when the clock on his mantelpiece struck nine. De Silveira sent his private secretary off to find out where he was and paced angrily backward and forward through the hotel suite. His secretary returned a few minutes later in a state of panic with the information that the hotel was surrounded by armed guards. Eduardo did not panic. He had been through eight coups in his life from which he had learned one golden rule: The new regime never kills visiting foreigners, because it needs their money every bit as much as the last government. Eduardo picked up the telephone, but no one answered so he switched on the radio. A tape recording was playing:
“This is Radio Nigeria, this is Radio Nigeria. There has been a coup. General Mohammed has been overthrown and Lieutenant Colonel Dimka has assumed leadership of the new revolutionary government. Do not be afraid; remain at home and everything will be back to normal in a few hours. This is Radio Nigeria, this is Radio Nigeria. There has been a…”
Eduardo switched off the radio as two thoughts flashed through his mind. Coups always held up everything and caused chaos, so undoubtedly he had wasted the four days. But worse, would it now be possible for him even to get out of Nigeria and carry on his normal business with the rest of the world?
By lunchtime the radio was playing martial music interspersed with the tape-recorded message he soon learned by heart. Eduardo detailed all his staff to find out anything they could and to report back to him direct. They all returned with the same story: that it was impossible to get past the soldiers surrounding the hotel, so no new information could be unearthed. Eduardo swore for the first time in months. To add to his inconvenience, the hotel manager rang through to say that regretfully Mr. de Silveira would have to eat in the main dining room as there would be no room service until further notice. Eduardo went down to the dining room somewhat reluctantly, only to discover that the headwaiter showed no interest in who he was and placed him unceremoniously at a small table already occupied by three Italians. Manuel Rodriguez was seated only two tables away: Eduardo stiffened at the thought of the other man enjoying his discomfiture and then remembered it was that morning he was supposed to have seen the Minister of Ports. He ate his meal quickly despite being served slowly and when the Italians tried to make conversation with him he waved them away with his hand, feigning lack of understanding, despite the fact that he spoke their language fluently. As soon as he had finished the second course he returned to his room. His staff had only gossip to pass on and they had been unable to make contact with the Brazilian Embassy to lodge an official protest. “A lot of good an official protest will do us,” said Eduardo, slumping down in his chair. “Who do you send it to, the new regime or the old one?”
He sat alone in his room for the rest of the day, interrupted only by what he thought was the sound of gunfire in the distance. He read the New Federal Capital Project proposal and his advisers’ reports for a third time.
The next morning Eduardo, dressed in the same suit as he had worn on the day of his arrival, was greeted by his secretary with the news that the coup had been crushed; after fierce street fighting, he informed his unusually attentive chairman, the old regime had regained power but not without losses; among those killed in the uprising had been General Mohammed, the Head of State. The secretary’s ne
ws was officially confirmed on Radio Nigeria later that morning. The ringleader of the abortive coup, Lieutenant Colonel Dimka, along with one or two junior officers, had escaped, and the government had ordered a dusk-to-dawn curfew until the evil criminals were apprehended.
Pull off a coup and you’re a national hero, fail and you’re an evil criminal; in business it’s the same difference between bankruptcy and making a fortune, thought Eduardo as he listened to the news report. He was beginning to form plans in his mind for an early departure from Nigeria when the newscaster made an announcement that chilled him to the very marrow.
“While Lieutenant Colonel Dimka and his accomplices remain on the run, airports throughout the country will be closed until further notice.”
When the newscaster had finished his report, martial music was played in memory of the late General Mohammed.
Eduardo went downstairs in a flaming temper. The hotel was still surrounded by armed guards. He stared at the fleet of six empty Mercedes which was parked only ten yards beyond the soldiers’ rifles. He marched back into the foyer, irritated by the babble of different tongues coming at him from every direction. Eduardo looked around him: it was obvious that many people had been stranded in the hotel overnight and had ended up sleeping in the lounge or the bar. He checked the paperback rack in the lobby for something to read, but there were only four copies left of a tourist guide to Lagos; everything else had been sold. Authors who had not been read for years were now changing hands at a premium. Eduardo returned to his room, which was fast assuming the character of a prison, and balked at reading the New Federal Capital Project for a fourth time. He tried again to make contact with the Brazilian Ambassador to obtain special permission to leave the country since he had his own aircraft. No one answered the Embassy phone. He went down for an early lunch only to find that the dining room was once again packed to capacity. Eduardo was placed at a table with some Germans who were worrying about a contract that had been signed by the government the previous week, before the abortive coup. They were wondering if it would still be honored. Manuel Rodriguez entered the room a few minutes later and was placed at the next table.
During the afternoon, de Silveira ruefully examined his schedule for the next seven days. He had been due in Paris that morning to see the Minister of the Interior, and from there should have flown on to London to confer with the chairman of the Steel Board. His calendar was fully booked for the next ninety-two days until his family holiday in May. “I’m having this year’s holiday in Nigeria,” he commented wryly to an assistant.
What annoyed Eduardo most about the coup was the lack of communication it afforded with the outside world. He wondered what was going on in Brazil and he hated not being able to telephone or telex Paris or London to explain his absence personally. He listened addictively to Radio Nigeria on the hour every hour for any new scrap of information. At five o’clock he learned that the Supreme Military Council had elected a new President, who would address the nation on television and radio at nine o’clock that night.
Eduardo de Silveira switched on the television at eight forty-five; normally an assistant would have put it on for him at one minute to nine. He sat watching a Nigerian lady giving a talk on dressmaking, followed by the weather forecast man, who supplied Eduardo with the revealing information that the temperature would continue to be hot for the next month. Eduardo’s knee was twitching up and down nervously as he waited for the address by the new President. At nine o’clock, after the national anthem had been played, the new Head of State, General Obasanjo, appeared on the screen in full dress uniform. He spoke first of the tragic death and sad loss for the nation of the late President and went on to say that his government would continue to work in the best interest of Nigeria. He looked ill at ease as he apologized to all foreign visitors who were inconvenienced by the attempted coup but went on to make it clear that the dusk-to-dawn curfew would continue until the rebel leaders were tracked down and brought to justice. He confirmed that all airports would remain closed until Lieutenant Colonel Dimka was in custody. The new President ended his statement by saying that all other forms of communication would be opened up again as soon as possible. The national anthem was played for a second time, as Eduardo thought of the millions of dollars that might be lost to him by his incarceration in that hotel room, while his private plane sat idly on the tarmac only a few miles away. One of his senior managers made book as to how long it would take for the authorities to capture Lieutenant Colonel Dimka; he did not tell de Silveira how short the odds were on a month.
Eduardo went down to the dining room in the suit he had worn the day before. A junior waiter placed him at a table with some Frenchmen who had been hoping to win a contract to drill for oil in the Niger state. Again Eduardo waved a languid hand when they tried to include him in their conversation. At that very moment he was meant to be with the French Minister of the Interior, not with some French oil drillers. He tried to concentrate on his watered-down soup, wondering how much longer it might be before it would be just water. The headwaiter appeared by his side, gesturing to the one remaining seat at the table, in which he placed Manuel Rodriguez. Still neither man gave any sign of recognizing the other. Eduardo debated with himself whether he should leave the table or carry on as if his oldest rival was still in Brazil. He decided the latter was more dignified. The Frenchmen began an argument among themselves as to when they would be able to get out of Lagos. One of them declared emphatically that he had heard on the highest authority that the government intended to track down every last one of those involved in the coup before they opened the airports and that might take up to a month.
“What?” said the two Brazilians together, in English.
“I can’t hang around here for a month,” said Eduardo.
“Neither can I,” said Manuel Rodriguez.
“You’ll have to, at least until Dimka is captured,” said one of the Frenchmen, breaking into English. “So you must both relax yourselves, yes?”
The two Brazilians continued their meal in silence. When Eduardo had finished he rose from the table and without looking directly at Rodriguez said good night in Portuguese. The old rival inclined his head in reply.
The next day brought forth no new information. The hotel remained surrounded with soldiers and by the evening Eduardo had lost his temper with every member of his staff with whom he had come into contact. He went down to dinner on his own and as he entered the dining room he saw Manuel Rodriguez sitting alone at a table in the corner. Rodriguez looked up, seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then beckoned to Eduardo. Eduardo himself hesitated before walking slowly toward Rodriguez and taking the seat opposite him. Rodriguez poured him a glass of wine. Eduardo, who rarely drank, drank it. Their conversation was stilted to begin with, but as both men consumed more wine they each began to relax in the other’s company. By the time coffee had arrived, Manuel was telling Eduardo what he could do with this godforsaken country.
“You will not stay on if you are awarded the ports contract?” inquired Eduardo.
“Not a hope,” said Rodriguez, who showed no surprise that de Silveira knew of his interest in the ports contract. “I withdrew from the short list the day before the coup. I had intended to fly back to Brazil that Thursday morning.”
“Can you say why you withdrew?”
“Labor problems mainly, and then the congestion of the ports.”
“I am not sure I understand,” said Eduardo, understanding full well but curious to learn if Rodriguez had picked up some tiny detail his own staff had missed.
Manuel Rodriguez paused to ingest the fact that the man he had viewed as his most dangerous enemy for over thirty years was now listening to his own inside information. He considered the situation for a moment while he sipped his coffee. Eduardo didn’t speak.
“To begin with, there’s a terrible shortage of skilled labor, and on top of that there’s this mad quota system.”
“Quota system?” said Eduardo inno
cently.
“The percentage of people from the contractor’s country which the government will allow to work in Nigeria.”
“Why should that be a problem?” said Eduardo, leaning forward.
“By law you have to employ at a ratio of fifty nationals to one foreigner, so I could only have brought over twenty-five of my top men to organize a fifty-million-dollar contract and I’d have had to make do with Nigerians at every other level. The government are cutting their own throats with the wretched system; they can’t expect unskilled men, black or white, to become experienced engineers overnight. It’s all to do with their national pride. Someone must tell them they can’t afford that sort of pride if they want to complete the job at a sensible price. That path is the surest route to bankruptcy. On top of that, the Germans have already rounded up all the best skilled labor for their road projects.”
“But surely,” said Eduardo, “you charge according to the rules, however stupid, thus covering all eventualities, and as long as you’re certain that payment is guaranteed…”
Manuel raised his hand to stop Eduardo’s flow: “That’s another problem. You can’t be certain. The government reneged on a major steel contract only last month. In so doing,” he explained, “they bankrupted a distinguished international company. So they are perfectly capable of trying the same trick with me. And if they don’t pay up, who do you sue? The Supreme Military Council?”
A Quiver Full of Arrows Page 4
