“Do call me Victor.”
Sir Hamish bowed silently and shuddered. There was no way this man was going to be allowed to call him Hamish.
“I’d be pleased to represent you, Hamish,” continued Perez, “provided that you find my terms acceptable.”
“Perhaps you could enlighten us as to what those—hm, terms—might be,” said Sir Hamish stiffly.
“Certainly,” said the little Mexican cheerfully. “I require ten percent of the agreed tender figure, five percent to be paid on the day you are awarded the contract and five percent whenever you present your completion certificates. Not a penny to be paid until you have received your fee, all my payments deposited in an account at Credit Suisse in Geneva within seven days of the National Bank of Mexico clearing your check.”
David Heath drew in his breath sharply and stared down at the stone floor.
“But under those terms you would make nearly four million dollars,” protested Sir Hamish, now red in the face. “That’s over half our projected profit.”
“That, as I believe you say in England, Hamish, is your problem. You fixed the tender price,” said Perez, “not me. In any case, there’s still enough in the deal for both of us to make a handsome profit, which is surely fair as we both bring half the equation to the table.”
Sir Hamish was speechless as he fiddled with his bow tie. David Heath examined his fingernails attentively.
“Think the whole thing over, Hamish,” said Victor Perez, sounding unperturbed, “and let me know your decision by midday tomorrow. The outcome makes little difference to me.” The Mexican rose, shook hands with Sir Hamish and left. David Heath, sweating slightly, accompanied him down in the lift. In the foyer he clasped hands damply with the Mexican.
“Goodnight, Victor, I’m sure everything will be all right—by midday tomorrow.”
“I hope so,” replied the Mexican, “for your sake.” He strolled out of the foyer whistling.
Sir Hamish, a glass of water in his hand, was still seated at the dinner table when his project manager returned.
“I do not believe it is possible that that—that that man can represent the Secretary of State, represent a government minister.”
“I am assured that he does,” replied David Heath.
“But to part with nearly four million dollars to such an individual…”
“I agree with you, sir, but that is the way business is conducted out here.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Sir Hamish. “I won’
t believe it. I want you to make an appointment for me to see the minister first thing tomorrow morning.”
“He won’t like that, sir. It might expose his position, and put him right out in the open in a way that could only embarrass him.”
“I don’t give a damn about embarrassing him. We are discussing a bribe, do I have to spell it out for you, Heath? A bribe of nearly four million dollars. Have you no principles, man?”
“Yes, sir, but I would still advise you against seeing the Secretary of State. He won’t want any of your conversation with Mr. Perez on the record.”
“I have run this company my way for nearly thirty years, Mr. Heath, and I shall be the judge of what I want on the record.”
“Yes, of course, sir.”
“I will see the Secretary of State first thing in the morning. Kindly arrange a meeting.”
“If you insist, sir,” said David Heath resignedly.
“I insist.”
The project manager departed to his own room and a sleepless night. Early the next morning he delivered a hand-written, personal and private letter to the minister, who sent a car round immediately for the Scottish industrialist.
Sir Hamish was driven slowly through the noisy, exuberant, bustling crowds of the city in the minister’s black Ford Galaxy with the flag flying. People made way for the car respectfully. The chauffeur came to a halt outside the Ministry of Buildings and Public Works in Paseo de la Reforma and guided Sir Hamish through the long white corridors to a waiting room. A few minutes later an assistant showed Sir Hamish through to the Secretary of State and took a seat by his side. The minister, a severe-looking man who appeared to be well into his seventies, was dressed in an immaculate white suit, white shirt and blue tie. He rose, leaned over the vast expanse of green leather and offered his hand.
“Do have a seat, Sir Hamish.”