Buying Brazil (Buying Brazil Trilogy Book 1)

by Arthur Rawl

  “Why would you want to leave?”

  “You want to stay in Brazil because it’s your home. Home is a special place.”

  “Yes, it is my home. It is also the best place on earth. You live in the United States so England must not have everything you want. You came to Brasil looking for something more. Brasil has everything I want now … now that you are here. But we should not talk of such things. They bring shadows over our happiness.”

  “Perhaps I have forgotten the meaning of happiness.” Happiness in the way the waterfall’s mist cooled the burning sun and magic in the sound of her voice, her touch. “You reminded me and I don’t want to forget again.”

  With a feline grace, she rose from the chaise, “Come into the pool Querido. It is so cool and I will keep you warm.”

  … and she did, then and after dinner when we escaped back to our sanctuary and shut the rest of the world outside. In the middle of the night we were together breathing as one sharing in ways I never imagined. Finally, again in the morning before we dressed for breakfast but then I sensed something between us that hadn’t been there the night before. Something beginning to separate us. Maybe just the fear of leaving this perfect world and never being able to return.

  Late Sunday afternoon when we said goodbye to the house staff there was still almost nothing in my head, my heart but Alana. Spells filling our secluded oasis succeeded in erasing everything but her presence … everything but unanswered questions about her that seemed as state road three came closer and paradise became lost behind the ever-creeping forest. I knew she was special … more than special. Effortlessly she could bring light to the darkness displacing despair with warmth and hope. With equally little effort she could overlook the tales of pain and suffering staining Aranni’s past simply dismissing them as patriotism. Would I be dismissed just as easily because I did not fit within her vision of the future?

  So many times in the past I readily joined in laughter at the expense of some man obviously blinded by a beautiful woman. Had I become just one of those men? Every time I reached for the blue box in the bottom of my bag my hand had stopped further away than the last. Who was the real Alana? Was she the innocent country girl or the accomplished Mata Hari? Or was she something else? How could I … how could anyone know? With each mile the mystery surrounding her seem to grow. I could not seem to give her the diamond bracelet so carefully picked out for the woman I’d thought I knew, the one so different from any other I had known?

  The car doors had closed with a keen razor edge cutting us loose from the spell drifting on the waterfall’s mist. Twenty-four hours of Alana’s radiant smiles ended instantly replaced by a downcast look and sagging shoulders. Had she sensed the growing shadows of doubt knowing she could not dispel them with her truth’s brightness? “Alana, would you tell the driver I’d like to stop for coffee.”

  “There are only simple places on the road. We should wait until we are back in the Jardims.”

  Knowing simple meant lower class filled with laborers and farmers, “I saw them but I’d still like to stop. We can sit outside and look down at the city.” She remained silent, “There’s something I want to talk to you about. Somehow I think it will be more private here in the mountains.”

  She looked at me with cold eyes and in a low voice, “What is it Querido? You have been somewhere else today.”

  “You know I’ve a lot on my mind. If I spoiled your weekend I’m sorry.”

  “It was our weekend. I thought if we went from the city you could forget the things that keep you from me.”

  “I’m afraid they came with us, I’m sorry.”

  She turned away, “We will stop.”

  A half an hour later we turned into the sand and gravel covered clearing surrounding an unremarkable mud-stained stucco one story building. The space in front of the building filled with a randomly parked collection of rusting cars and over age trucks. “You go with the driver Querido. There should be tables behind the restaurant. I will go with Tomas to order food and coffee.”

  The late afternoon heat was heavy with humidity. It seemed hotter than I was accustomed to in the city below even though we were still in the foothills. Heated convection currents carrying air filled with green and wet from the dense forest below met me as I walked towards the back and the cluster of rough-hewn tables filling the narrow terrace between the building and a sheer cliff projecting out into space below the steep mountainside. The fast moving air provided no relief from the heat but thankfully it pushed the greasy kitchen odor away from the tables back into the lengthening shadow of the building slowly creeping toward the cliff edge. I pointed to the table closest to the edge and the driver quickly started moving the other tables and benches away as if they were weightless leaving ten feet between it and the others except for one small table left in the middle of the open space.

  Turning and walking off slowly toward the cliff edge my attention focused on the seemingly endless city below. The official population of São Paulo was fifteen million but the unofficial count was twenty-two million who lived in every imaginable form of habitation within the mass of human confusion choking the plateau below. I hadn’t seen anything like it except in Japan but there Tokyo’s post war expansion across the coastal plain was just as dense but comparably more neat and orderly. What would São Paulo be like in another decade or two? It had to go higher because construction couldn’t get any denser. There was one thing I was very sure of, São Paulo was a market that couldn’t be overlooked.

  Without warning a huge hand closed painfully on my shoulder jerking me back from the edge, “Perigo Senhor, prudéncia favor.”

  I hadn’t seen Alana and our Guardian come back from the restaurant nor had I heard the beer bottles he was carrying smash as he threw them aside and rushed to protect his charge from some imagined danger. I put up a hand in surrender, “Ok, ok!”

  Alana reached us, nodded to Tomas who released his vise-like grip. “He was afraid for you. Many unexplained things happen in country places. It is dangerous near the edge. You must be more careful. If something happened to either of us the Senator would be very unhappy with Tomas. Anything, no matter how small would be a serious problem.”

  “Tell Tomas I saw no danger and the General will appreciate his attention to duty. I understand he was doing what he thought he should do … had to do.”

  Alana spoke quietly to Tomas after which he nodded to her and then to me. He turned, picked up the tray and walked off toward the restaurant. It was obvious he was unhappy about leaving us to replace the beer and coffee.

  “Sit down Alana.” Looking quite uncomfortable she sat facing the open space beyond the cliff. “Querida, I said I understood what Tomas thought he had to do. Believe me, it wasn’t necessary.” Anger heating my blood, “I don’t like being tended like some prize livestock. I don’t like it.”

  “He was only making sure you …”

  Cutting her off sharply, “… no, he was following orders. I don’t need to be looked after. I’m capable of looking after myself. I’ve done it for a long time in all parts of the world.”

  She answered in a low voice sharpened to a razor’s edge, “Do you forget so quickly? What about the men in front of your house? You could have been murdered.”

  “No I haven’t forgotten … and I haven’t forgotten why I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe you forget I was shot at on the street. I have been dragged to secret meetings in the middle of the night. I’ve been continually threatened by the General’s cronies. What troubles me most is sometimes I don’t know who you are. You appear … you disappear like … like someone sent on a mission by Aranni.”

  Alana got up and took a few steps toward the edge bringing Tomas running. Seeing him she came back to the table motioning to him to slow down. “I told you I am not free. I told you about my life. This is not New York or London. It is Brasil where life can be very hard for the poor and the children of the poor and their children.”

  “Are you tellin
g me you’re here because it’s your job … just work?”

  “No Querido. I could not do that and the General would not ask such a thing of me. He did send me the first night to bring you to him. After that I asked to be allowed to see you. He is like my father. It is … in Brasil it is proper, expected, for a daughter to ask her father’s permission to see a man who is not family.”

  “Did he give you permission to sleep with me?”

  “That is a very bad thing to say.” Her face crimson, “The Senator is a good man. He loves me as a daughter. He would never shame me by speaking of such things.”

  A few yards away Tomas was coiled like a big cat ready to pounce on its prey, ready to protect Alana. The sight of him forced my temper to cool, “Enough! This isn’t what I wanted to stop for. I wanted to tell you …”

  “… I don’t want to know what you have to say. We should not have stopped in this unhappy, ugly place. It has a bad spirit, I feel it.”

  “You’re right we shouldn’t have stopped. We can have dinner in São Paulo”, but Alana didn’t hear me. She was half way back to the car by the time I finished and Tomas was behind me pointing to the car, “Via Senhor, favor via”.

  Chapter 15

  There was no dinner for us to share when we got back to São Paulo. Tomas deposited my bag and my neatly boxed tea bowl on the sidewalk near the wrought iron gate, held the door for me to get out, signaled to the gate guard and without a word from Alana sped off down Haddock Lobo leaving me wondering what had happened until the guard opened the gate behind me, “Favor Senhor … rapidamente.”

  Had I been too suspicious? Definitely not. Alana misunderstood and was acting as if I was the problem? There was nothing I could do now … perhaps nothing later. Whatever happened it was necessary to keep her out of my thoughts for the next two perhaps three weeks. After that I wouldn’t have to worry about her or Brazil anymore provided Juan Bastista was able to convince his stakeholders what was in their interest and what wasn’t. I reached for my bag and the carefully tied box with a sense of resolve I hadn’t felt recently. I now saw how this was going to end and unfortunately Alana was a matchless intoxicating dream, one that was no longer part of my future.

  “Good morning Robin. Did you have a good weekend?”

  Looking up with unspoken questions all over her face, “You’re chipper. New love or are we finally getting out of here?”

  “Soon, very soon and then it’s back to the frozen north for us.”

  “Did you hear from Sam? What’s up? You’re not pulling my chain are you?”

  “No. I had enough time to think and sorted things out. Winding this thing up is going to be easy.”

  “Ok, it’s another one of your deal epiphany moments and then as usual we’re supposed to be going down the home stretch. You’re so damned predictable … an epiphany and then things magically get wrapped up. Just like the last couple of dozen deals. Yeah, all except for the chocolate deal. I hope Brazil isn’t a jinx for us.”

  “Don’t worry this deal’s a piece of cake compared to that one. Get Skip on the phone and then some coffee please.”

  “How about you settle for coffee first? I still haven’t been able to find Skip.”

  “Its five days since he checked in. Have you tried the satellite phone again?”

  “I’ve tried everything and everywhere. His hotel says they haven’t seen him. I had them check his room and his overnight bag and shaving stuff aren’t there. Maybe you should call New York and see if he’s called them.”

  “Not yet. Maybe after lunch …” José Carlos burst through the front door sending it crashing against the wall. His face ashen, eyes bulging, looking like he’d just lived his worst nightmare he stood in the middle of the room gasping for air from running the stairs. “Sr. Carl on the television … it is Sr. Skip. He is arrested in Rio. It is very bad. A dead woman was with him.

  Robin was at the television turning on Globo News before he finished. His last words stopped her hand in midair. “Dead, who’s dead?”

  “A woman … I do not know who. They said there were drugs and a knife. It was in a big house above Ipanema.” Wringing his hands like a hysterical old woman, “… very bad. The military police have him and the State Prosecutor is there. It is very bad Senhor. He will be in the prison for many years.”

  “Calm down, there hasn’t been a trial yet.”

  “A trial … here trials mean little or nothing. Guilt or innocence is decided before trails. He was made guilty when they arrested him. He is a foreigner so he will not leave prison again until he is old.”

  “Robin, call the Embassy in Brasilia. No, call Rossi first.”

  “Good morning Pedro, did you hear the news?”

  “Yes, on the radio. I was in the car.”

  “What should we do first … diplomatic, political or maybe our new friends … which one?”

  “None of them for the moment please. One of my partners is in Rio today. I called him from the car and asked him to find out what young Watson is accused of. He is to tell the Police we represent Sr. Watson. “His voice lowering to an ominous tone, “If it were only São Paulo not Rio … things can be more orderly here.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There are always complications with Cariocas. They act as if Rio was still the Imperial capital of Brasil and national law does not touch them.”

  “I’ve got to call Sam. What do I tell him? Can we get Skip out on bail? I’m sure Sam will want calls made to Brasilia from Washington. Who should be called?”

  “Please tell him not to do any of the things he thinks necessary as yet. You should remind him that since re-democratization our state governors have more power in many areas than the Federal Government including local criminal matters. He will not want to hear such things but he has to understand Brasilia cannot help until after a state acts in a matter such as this. I’ll know more in an hour. Tell him I’ll have suggestions for him then. My partner Jesus is a very good lawyer and he’s a Carioca. His contacts have been very helpful in resolving past difficulties. Please ask Sr. Sam to give us a little time.”

  “Ok, I’ll try to get a few hours but I’m not optimistic. Sam’s going to go off like a misguided missile and you can’t blame him. They probably have his kid in some dungeon by now. At the least that’s what he’ll believe regardless of what we say.”

  “Perhaps it would be better to let him go off as you say my friend. We will do what we can but naturally it will take time and,” lowering his voice now to a conspiratorial level. “His natural fear and frustration can be tools in furthering certain … certain interests.”

  “What are you saying?” As I said the words the entirety of Skip’s situation became very clear, “Ok, I’ll call him and if he wants to rant I’ll just let him work himself up. What can I do, he’s the boss?”

  “Yes my friend he ‘is’ the boss and therefore it is his problem as much as it is his son’s. Perhaps he should come here and take charge personally. I’ll know better in an hour.”

  “Fine, there isn’t much damage he can do in an hour no matter how much he tries. I’ll tell him very clearly your partner is on scene in Rio assessing the situation first hand.”

  “Both reasonable and correct but unfortunately I am sure he will not be satisfied. Just be prepared to look out for yourself my friend.”

  “Thanks, you’ll call me?”

  “I will as soon as I know something. Tchau.”

  “Is there anything new on the television Robin?”

  “No. José Carlos says they keep repeating the same thing over and over.”

  “Get me Sam and cover your ears. I’m sure it’s going to be loud.”

  While she called New York I sorted through what I thought Rossi was really saying and how I should frame the story I should tell Sam. Whatever I told him had to fit with what he would hear from his network here and from State in Washington.

  Adopting his direct approach, “Hello Sam, there’s some very
disturbing news you need to know.”

  “The deal’s in trouble?”

  “No it’s Skip, he’s in trouble. I have our lawyers on it and we’ll get feedback in an hour or so.”

  “What did he get into this time? It’s too soon for him to have knocked up some Brazilian broad.”

  “Not quite that kind of trouble. He’s been arrested in Rio. I don’t know quite how to tell you …”

  “Straight out damn it!”

  “He was found passed out with drugs and a dead woman. She’d been stabbed and the knife was there also. He hasn’t been charged yet but the news says they expect a murder charge.”

  “Are you out of your mind? The damned kid is a weakling! He couldn’t kill a fucking fly. Why the hell did you let him go to Rio?”

  “Your son seems to think he’s free to come and go as he pleases. It happened on the weekend and you told us to slow down a little so working on the weekend wasn’t necessary.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. Right now I want to know about the lawyers and what they’re doing.”

  “Our lawyer Pedro Rossi was in charge of the São Paulo Courts during the military years. He and his firm are well known and well respected. One of his partners is originally from Rio. That partner was there today on other business and has gone to the jail to see Skip and the State Prosecutor as well as to protect Skip’s rights. Rossi expects a report from Rio within an hour.”

  “Rights … no one’s got any rights in that damned place! They all hate us Yankees. In an hour they’ll have beaten a confession out of him.”

  “I called you before the embassy in Brasilia. Rossi thought diplomatic pressure was premature. I can’t say yes or no but …”

  “… it’s not his damned kid. I’ll be back to you in ten minutes after I talk to State. You God damned better have some news for me. Understand?”

  Ten minutes, he was out of his mind. We didn’t even know how far away from the prison Rossi’s Partner was. Damned Skip, he should have … “Robin, get John Samuels at the Trade Mission for me.” Whether Aranni was involved or not, Skip left the door open for him.