A Quiver Full of Arrows

Eduardo carefully studied the outline proposal sent to him a week later, after the General had returned to Nigeria, and agreed to his first request by dispatching a research team of seven men to fly to Lagos and complete a feasibility study on Abuja.

One month later, the team’s detailed report was in de Silveira’s hands. Eduardo came to the conclusion that the potential profitability of the project was worthy of a full proposal to the Nigerian government. He contacted General Mohammed personally to find that he was in full agreement and authorized the go-ahead. This time twenty-three men were dispatched to Lagos and three months and 170 pages later, Eduardo signed and sealed the proposal designated as “A New Capital for Nigeria.” He made only one alteration to the final document. The cover of the proposal was in blue and silver with the Prentino logo in the center: Eduardo had that changed to green and white, the national colors of Nigeria, with the national emblem of an eagle astride two horses: he realized it was the little things that impressed generals and often tipped the scales. He sent ten copies of the feasibility study to Nigeria’s Head of State with an invoice for one million dollars.

When General Mohammed had studied the proposal he invited Eduardo de Silveira to visit Nigeria as his guest, in order to discuss the next stage of the project. De Silveira telexed back, provisionally accepting the invitation and pointing out politely but firmly that he had not yet received reimbursement for the one million dollars spent on the initial feasibility study. The money was telexed by return from the Central Bank of Nigeria, and de Silveira managed to find four consecutive days in his calendar for “The New Federal Capital Project”: his schedule demanded that he arrive in Lagos on a Monday morning because he had to be in Paris by Thursday night at the latest.

While these thoughts were going through Eduardo’s mind, the Mercedes drew up outside Dodan Barracks. The iron gates swung open and a full armed guard gave the general salute, an honor normally afforded only to a visiting Head of State. The black Mercedes drove slowly through the gates and came to a halt outside the President’s private residence. A brigadier waited on the steps to escort de Silveira through to the President.

The two men had lunch together in a small room that closely resembled a British officers’ mess. The meal consisted of a steak that would not have been acceptable to any South American cowhand, surrounded by vegetables that reminded Eduardo of his schooldays. Still, Eduardo had never yet met a soldier who understood that a good chef was every bit as important as a good batman. During the lunch they talked in overall terms about the problems of building a whole new city in the middle of an equatorial jungle.

The provisional estimate of the cost of the project had been $1,000 million, but when de Silveira warned the President that the final outcome might well end up nearer $3,000 million, the President’s jaw dropped slightly. De Silveira had to admit that the project would be the most ambitious that Prentino International had ever tackled, but he was quick to point out to the President that the same would be true of any construction company in the world.

De Silveira, not a man to play his best card early, waited until the coffee to slip into the conversation the fact that he had just been awarded, against heavy opposition (which had included Rodriguez), the contract to build an eight-lane highway through the Amazonian jungle, which would eventually link up with the Pan-American highway, a contract second in size only to the one they were now contemplating in Nigeria. The President was impressed and inquired if the venture would not prevent de Silveira from involving himself in the new capital project.

“I’ll know the answer to that question in three days’ time,” replied the Brazilian, and agreed to a further discussion with the Head of State at the end of his visit, when he would let the President know if he was prepared to continue with the scheme.

After lunch Eduardo was driven to the Federal Palace Hotel, where the entire sixth floor had been placed at his disposal. Several complaining guests who had come to Nigeria to close deals involving mere millions had been asked to vacate their rooms at short notice to make way for de Silveira and his staff. Eduardo knew nothing of these goings-on, as there was always a room available for him wherever he arrived in the world.

The six Mercedes drew up outside the hotel, and the colonel guided his charge through the swing doors and past reception. Eduardo had not checked himself into a hotel for the past fourteen years except on those occasions when he chose to register under an assumed name, not wanting anyone to know the identity of the woman he was with.

The chairman of Prentino International walked down the center of the hotel’s main corridor and stepped into a waiting lift. His legs went weak and he suddenly felt sick. In the corner of the lift stood a stubby, balding, overweight man, who was dressed in a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt, his mouth continually opening and closing as he chewed gum. The two men stood as far apart as possible, neither showing any sign of recognition. The lift stopped at the fifth floor and Manuel Rodriguez, chairman of Rodriguez International S.A., stepped out, leaving behind him the man who had been his bitter rival for thirty years.

Eduardo held on to the rail in the lift to steady himself because he still felt dizzy. How he despised that uneducated self-made upstart whose family of four half-brothers, all by different fathers, claimed they now ran the largest construction company in Brazil. Both men were as interested in the other’s failure as they were in their own success.

Eduardo was somewhat puzzled to know what Rodriguez could possibly be doing in Lagos for he felt certain that his rival had not come into contact with the Nigerian President. After all, Eduardo had never collected the rent on a small house in Rio that was occupied by the mistress of a very senior official in the government’s protocol department. And the man’s only task was to be certain that Rodriguez was not invited to any function attended by a visiting dignitary when in Brazil. The continual absence of Rodriguez from these state occasions ensured the absentmindedness of Eduardo’s rent collector in Rio.

Eduardo would never have admitted to anyone that Rodriguez’s presence worried him, but he nevertheless resolved to find out immediately what had brought his old enemy to Nigeria. Once he reached his suite de Silveira instructed his private secretary to check what Manuel Rodriguez was up to. Eduardo was prepared to fly on to Paris immediately if Rodriguez turned out to be involved in any way with the new capital project, and one young lady in Rio would suddenly find herself looking for other accommodations.

Within an hour his private secretary returned with the information his chairman had requested. Rodriguez, he had discovered, was in Nigeria to tender for the contract to construct a new port in Lagos and was apparently not involved in any way with the new capital, and in fact was still trying to arrange a meeting with the President.

“Which minister is in charge of the ports and when am I due to see him?” asked de Silveira.

The secretary delved into his appointments file. “The Minister of Transport,” the secretary said. “You have an appointment with him at nine o’clock on Thursday morning.” The Nigerian Civil Service had mapped out a four-day schedule of meetings for de Silveira which included every cabinet minister involved in the new city project. “It’s the last meeting before your final discussion with the President. You then fly on to Paris.”

“Excellent. Remind me of this conversation five minutes before I see the minister and again when I talk to the President.”

The secretary made a note in the file and left.

Eduardo sat alone in his suite,

going over the reports on the new capital project submitted by his experts. Some of his team were already showing signs of nervousness. One particular anxiety that always came up with a large construction contract was the principal’s ability to pay, and pay on time. Failure to be paid on time was the quickest route to bankruptcy, but since the discovery of oil in Nigeria, there seemed to be no shortage of income and certainly no shortage of people willing to spend that money on behalf of the government. These anxieties did not worry de Silveira, because he always insisted on a substantial payment in advance; otherwise he wouldn’t move himself or his vast staff one centimeter out of Brazil. However, the massive scope of this particular contract made the circumstances somewhat unusual. Eduardo realized that it would be most damaging to his international reputation if he started the assignment and then was seen not to complete it. He re-read the reports over a quiet dinner in his room and retired to bed early, having wasted an hour in vainly trying to place a call through to his wife.

De Silveira’s first appointment the next morning was with the Governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria. Eduardo wore a newly pressed suit, fresh shirt and highly polished shoes: for four days no one would see him in the same clothes. At eight forty-five there was a quiet knock on the door of his suite and the secretary opened it to find Colonel Usman standing to attention, waiting to escort Eduardo to the bank. As they were leaving the hotel Eduardo again saw Manuel Rodriguez, wearing the same pair of jeans, the same crumpled T-shirt, and probably chewing the same gum as he stepped into a BMW in front of him. De Silveira stopped scowling at the disappearing BMW only when he remembered his Thursday morning appointment with the Minister of Transport, followed by a meeting with the President.

The Governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria was in the habit of proposing how payment schedules would be met and completion orders would be guaranteed. He had never been told by anyone that if the payment was seven days overdue he could consider the contract null and void and that he could take it or leave it. The Governor would have made some comment if Abuja had not been the President’s pet project. That position established, de Silveira went on to check the bank’s reserves, long-term deposits, overseas commitments and estimated oil revenues for the next five years. He left the Governor in what could only be described as a jelly-like state, glistening and wobbling.

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: