When the Singing Stops

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Lady Annabel is giving a big bash at the haunted house, a few days before the parade.’

  ‘Yo watch out fo Uncle Eric.’

  Matthew, Sharee, Kevin, Viti, Connor and Madi arrived together at Lady Annabel’s pre-Carnivale party. Despite the lights, the cars, the music, people about the grounds and on the verandah, the house still loomed melancholy and strange in Madi’s mind. She took Connor’s hand as they went upstairs to be welcomed by Lady Annabel, resplendent in a gold lame turban and a flowing caftan that was hand-painted with Amerindian symbols. Waiters weaved through the crush with trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres, the steel band in the garden played non stop, guests had dressed as requested—‘with a carnival flair’—and Lady Annabel, waving a cigarette holder and glass of champagne, looked in her element.

  ‘You’ve gone overboard, haven’t you, Lady A?’ remarked Matthew.

  ‘I’m not footing the bill, just playing mistress of ceremonies. Or genie with the lamp. Did you have a particular wish?’ She kissed Madi. ‘My dear girl. Did you enjoy your sojourn in the interior?’

  ‘I loved it. We both did.’ She smiled at Connor.

  Lady Annabel glanced at them both. ‘It seems to have put a sparkle in your eye. Madison, there are several people I’d like you to meet. Connor, may I steal her for a while?’

  He waved a hand. ‘Of course. Have fun. I’ll find Matthew.’

  Lady Annabel linked her arm through Madi’s. ‘So, my dear girl. What’s really going on?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘With you and Connor, with your involvement in local affairs, your interest in Xavier Rodrigues and his plans . . .’

  ‘You seem to be keeping tabs.’

  ‘I hear things, Madison. And may I say to you—as I am very fond of you—don’t make any rash decisions.’

  ‘About what, Lady Annabel? My love life or my “other interests”?’ Madi spoke lightly but her eyes were brittle. She was trying to fathom what underlying message Annabel was trying to send.

  ‘About anything, Madison . . . projects and people aren’t always what they seem in Guyana.’

  Several guests descended on Lady Annabel. Madi turned, looking for someone she knew, and was immediately confronted by Antonio Destra.

  ‘The woman of the bush returns. You’re looking very glamorous, Miss Wright.’ He kissed her hand. ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Just playing tourist. More to the point, what have you been up to?’

  He gave a shrug. ‘Hard to do anything but concentrate on the spill at the Columbus mine these past weeks. They sure needed a mighty lot of gear up there. Great for my business, but bad news for the country, don’t you agree?’

  Madi was really puzzled by Antonio Destra. He seemed to be everywhere that mattered when it mattered. He always said the right things, and was respected among the mining fraternity. She knew too, that he had helped the Amerindians over the years. But there was something about him that made her feel a little uncomfortable. It was hard, she found, always to believe what he was saying. Insincerity, that was it, she concluded. He was definitely suss in the sincerity department.

  ‘You’re right there, it sure is bad for the country,’ Madi said. ‘The issue is, what will be done to ensure such things don’t happen again? Maybe the goldmine accident will be a catalyst for changing the political and economic agenda in this country.’

  Destra almost choked on his whisky and water. Well, he thought, the little mouse I met at the airport, when she arrived in Guyana, is turning into a roaring lion. She’s starting to sound like Xavier when he’s on his soapbox in the bush. God knows what she will get up to next. But before he could resume the conversation in depth, Madi sighted Sasha St Herve talking to Colonel Bede Olivera, and returned his wave with her glass. ‘Sorry, Antonio, but I must talk to Sasha. Business.’

  ‘Never one to stand in the way of a little business,’ he quipped. ‘See you later in the evening perhaps.’

  Sasha gave Madi a charming smile. The colonel was effusive in his greeting. ‘I hear you have been exploring the interior. Excellent, excellent. I hope you are suitably impressed with our country,’ smiled Olivera.

  ‘How could I not be . . . the Rupunini, Kaieteur, the Essequibo River.’

  Sasha St Herve stepped in quickly. ‘I’ve been trying to persuade Madison to work for us, to put together a proposal to market and promote the Amazonia casino.’

  ‘Ah, yes, that’s right, you are a hotel marketing lady. Can’t we persuade you? It would be a unique and high profile project to work on,’ smiled Colonel Olivera.

  A small alarm bell rang in Madi’s head. ‘We? Are you involved in Amazonia?’

  ‘Indeed he is. I told you we have a most impressive group of individuals backing the casino. Come, you must meet the chairman of the Amazonia committee.’ St Herve took her arm, and Madi mumbled parting words to the colonel.

  ‘Madison, please meet Mr Rashid Bacchus, a banker from Brazil and the head of our Amazonia project. This is Miss Wright, visiting us from Australia.’

  Bacchus was an older man, his plumpness straining at the tightly buttoned Nehru jacket he wore buttoned all the way to his neck, the folds of dark skin dropping over the high collar. His face was damp with perspiration, but he gave Madison a jovial smile. As they reached out to shake hands, they made eye contact, and she saw his eyes were hard and cold.

  ‘How do you do,’ she smiled hesitantly. And then, as she released his hand, her eyes flashed down to what she’d felt—a ring. Shaped like a gold frog. Again she lifted her eyes to his face, and this time tried to read his bland expression.

  Drink in hand, Sasha St Herve began gushing to Bacchus about Madi’s marketing credentials. ‘However, since being in the interior, she has become a fan of eco tourism ideas,’ he laughed lightly.

  Bacchus was instantly dismissive. ‘I do not think that a viable concept at all. As a banker, I couldn’t endorse such risky small-time operations. Something like a casino is guaranteed to succeed. Look at what casinos have done for your cities like Melbourne, Cairns, Perth and Sydney. So, did you enjoy your time in the wilds of our beautiful country?’

  He looked at her over the lip of his glass as he sipped a mineral water. The gold frog blazed at Madi. More tellingly the frog tattoo was as clear inside Bacchus’ wrist as when she’d first glimpsed it beneath her blindfold. His hand and the glass partially covered his expression, but his eyes were penetrating hers, hard and threatening.

  ‘I wasn’t exactly in the wilds. I was staying with friends at their ranch in the Rupununi district,’ she said hoping her voice didn’t tremble too much.

  The moment she had feared had happened, when she had least expected it, and when she was beginning to think the drug episode was just a bad dream. Here was the man who had ordered their deaths, standing right before her.

  She simply couldn’t tell if Bacchus recognised her, but he must have. She had to keep calm. As far as he knew, she’d never seen him because she and Connor had been blindfolded. And his voice was not exceptional in any other way.

  Concealing her agitation as best she could, Madi listened to Sasha St Herve chattering on, and was relieved to see Lady Annabel bearing down on them. ‘Madison, my dear girl, there’s someone I would like you to meet. Gentlemen, you can’t monopolise the pretty girls for too long, excuse us.’ Madi smiled and shrugged as she was scooped up by Lady Annabel.

  ‘Who am I meeting now?’ asked Madi in a tight voice.

  ‘No one. You looked like you needed rescuing.’ Lady Annabel gave her a shrewd look but said nothing else. ‘Go find your lovely man.’

  Gratefully Madi fled to where Connor was standing with Matthew. Both of them saw immediately that she was upset.

  ‘What’s up, sis?’ asked Matthew in a low voice.

  ‘Don’t look now. But he’s here, Connor. The Indian man who ordered those drug men to kill us. He’s here.’

  ‘Oh God. Are you sure, Madi?’

  ‘The ring
, I saw his frog ring.’

  ‘Who, which one?’ Matthew spoke urgently.

  ‘Don’t draw attention to us. I don’t think he knows that I recognised him,’ Madi said. ‘It’s the fat Indian man, in the Nehru jacket. Don’t turn around, Connor.’

  ‘I’ve got him in my sights,’ said Matthew who was facing Madi and Connor and could see across the room behind them. ‘He’s talking to Olivera.’

  ‘He’s in it too,’ she hissed.

  ‘In what, Madi?’

  ‘They’re all part of the casino consortium. They’re the men behind the mysterious El Dorado company which is the financial backer of the casino.’

  ‘Christ. Time to leave, I think,’ said Matthew. ‘You two go first, I’ll follow in a little while. Go straight back to Connor’s. I’ll meet you there in an hour and we’ll see if we can make sense of this.’

  They sat in silence as Connor drove them back to the house. Once inside, Madi flung herself into Connor’s arms. ‘Oh God, that was horrible. I kept trying so hard not to show that I recognised him. Do you think he suspects? Lady Annabel said I looked like I needed rescuing.’

  ‘Don’t panic yet. That could mean you just looked bored, anything. Sit down and have a drink.’

  Matthew arrived, and a short time later another car drew up and Stewart Johns joined them. Matthew quickly filled him in on the meeting with Bacchus. Connor handed around fresh drinks and the group began to weigh up the links between El Dorado, Guyminco, Ernesto St Kitt’s death, the drug scene and the casino.

  ‘The casino is the key to it all. The perfect way to launder money. And if Bacchus is also head of a bank, is also running a drug racket, it’s obvious where the money to fund the casino is coming from,’ said Johns.

  ‘But what’s the connection with El Dorado and Guyminco?’

  ‘Blackmail, or so-called economic pressure, call it what you will. Guyminco—and who knows how many other companies—must have had the hard word put on them to cough up protection money, otherwise contracts and other things didn’t happen for them.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Madi.

  ‘Like parts and supplies not getting through, approvals and permissions, you name it. Bankers, government officials and political lobbyists can be very persuasive,’ said Connor.

  ‘So how exactly does the Amazonia casino and resort fit in?’ Madi persisted, trying to get the full picture.

  ‘What better way to move money around and make money at the same time? Under cover of a legitimate business that is going to provide jobs and boost the economy,’ said Matthew.

  ‘Can’t we tell the police . . . or someone?’ asked Madi.

  Johns spoke up. ‘Now, this is where we’re going to have to be very careful. For a start I would recommend Madison leave the country and Connor you keep a low profile.’

  ‘I’m not going. Sorry, Mr Johns, I can’t leave. Can’t something be done to prove what’s going on?’ said Madi in frustration.

  ‘Like what? When there are government officials, the head of a South American bank, and probably the police, all in it,’ said Matthew.

  Madi thought back to Police Inspector Palmer and his handling of her original complaint about the attempt on their lives by the drug runners. And she had to agree Matthew was probably right.

  Johns finished his drink then spoke calmly and decisively. ‘Not everyone in the government is corrupt. There are good guys—like poor Ernesto St Kitt. It’s around the middle area of the bureaucracy where the mud starts sticking. I could take this issue up very discreetly with the relevant ministers and go right to the top.’

  ‘We have no proof,’ said Matthew.

  Johns rose. ‘Let’s wait till after this Carnivale shindig is over and everyone’s back at work, we’ll deal with it then. Good night. And you keep your head down, Madison. And you too, Connor. Bacchus will recognise you, as well.’

  ‘Thank you, we will,’ Connor replied for both of them.

  Matthew walked with his boss down to the car.

  ‘I suppose he’s apologising for the uproar that’s gone on since you arrived in this country,’ grinned Connor.

  Madi glared at him. ‘You sound as though I’m responsible!’

  ‘Well, you have landed in some amazing situations and you are certainly making it clear where your eco political allegiances are . . . and that can’t make people like Sasha St Herve, Olivera and Bacchus too happy. You have rather stirred the possum, although I admit I’ve been there with you.’

  ‘Listen, Connor, you know very well how strongly I feel about this country and its people. I’m not making a stand or getting involved for selfish reasons. I feel motivated to fight for them . . .’

  ‘At the cost of possibly your life! Get real, Madi, you’re way out of your depth in this one. This is a complex political game with heavy players . . . you can’t sail in and push your green barrow here and think everyone will go along with you. You’ll get shot down in more ways than one.’

  ‘Don’t be so condescending,’ she said in frustration and, she had to admit, fear. She knew their lives were in danger and the knowledge made her head spin.

  Connor rushed to Madi and wrapped his arms about her. ‘We’re tired, it’s been a dreadful experience seeing Bacchus and bringing up all that stuff again . . . it’s scary. Don’t worry, my darling. Matthew and I are going to keep you safe.’

  ‘You’re in danger too, Connor,’ she said in a muffled voice.

  In the morning, Madi felt no brighter. Connor showed her how to lock the security grilles and kissed her goodbye as he headed to his office in town. ‘Have a quiet day. Stay low and read a good book,’ he grinned.

  She nodded and half an hour later picked up the phone. ‘Come and get me please, Lester.’

  Lester parked the taxi, locked it and tossed a coin to the boy hovering at the roadside who swiftly pocketed the money, calling, ‘Yas sir, yas master, dere be four wheels on yo car when yo come back. Ah does watch him good fo yo!’

  ‘Dere better be four wheels on him boy, ah don’ own dis one. Yo watch him very good.’

  Lester and Madi headed for The Pepperpot, their favourite small cafe. On the drive to the area, Madi had told Lester of the shock meeting at the cocktail party the night before. As they walked along the crowded street, rarely finding room on the sidewalk, Lester gave his grass-roots appraisal of the banker Rashid Bacchus. ‘He be a powerful man, mighty powerful. Dat banker like an octopus man, he got tentacles everywhere. His name get mentioned in certain deals, but never de mud stick. He one slippery customer, I tink. Dangerous too. An’ he very, very rich.’

  ‘Where’s his money come from?’

  ‘He say India family. I say, we poor people. De bank all de time throw de poor people out of de houses and de land, dey do some money trick, legal trick, and de poor people always be de ones payin.’

  ‘I think a big chunk of it’s coming from drug running. You know, Lester, when I look at some of those huge houses going up in the suburbs, the mansions, now where are those people getting the money when they’re not employed by foreign companies?’

  ‘Yo’ right dere! Friends of mine, dey be drivers and maids and gatemen, and dey tell me ’bout cars late at night, trips away, strange tings dat go on. It all smell bad, but everyone too scared to say nuttin’. Everyone hopin’ some of de profit come dere way.’ Lester shook his head as he stepped in front of Madi as they walked single file along the roadside. ‘It be no way to run a country, man.’

  They were forced to the edge of the road by the crowds, the parked cars and overflowing vendors, bicycles and milling people.

  Behind Madi, there was a roar of a motor as an old American model V8 car suddenly accelerated, swerved and would have collected her if, for some reason, Madi hadn’t stepped sideways behind a man wheeling a small cart laden with crates of beer. The speeding car clipped the cart sending bottles of beer flying everywhere. But it didn’t stop and, with its horn blowing loudly, ploughed a path through the confusion of traf
fic.

  Madi’s heart was beating fast and she felt slightly faint, then realised she was clutching her wooden frog tucked into the pocket of her white slacks.

  ‘Man, dat was close. Yo be lucky. How come yo stepped away? Yo hear him coming?’ Lester took her arm.

  Madi was dazed. ‘It was like I was pulled to one side, I can’t explain it.’ They looked at each other. ‘Do you think he was deliberately trying to hit me?’

  ‘We sure need dat coffee. Let’s get out of here.’ Lester led her into the coffee shop as the chaos on the street continued to escalate.

  They sat away from the door, facing the street. Madi was shaken by the experience because she knew that the swerving car had been no accident, but a deliberate attempt on her life.

  ‘I guess we don’t have to figure out who was trying to hurt me,’ she said weakly.

  ‘I tink you—and Connor—better git out of town for a bit. Wait and see if yo brudder’s boss can do some good wit de government. Who he talkin’ to?’

  ‘I don’t know, Lester.’ Madi rubbed her eyes. ‘Seems to me it’s impossible to know who’s honest.’

  ‘Den I tink you go away . . . another little holiday, eh?’

  ‘I don’t want to miss the Carnivale.’

  ‘Yo talk to your brudder . . . maybe yo could go to stay at de guesthouse at yo brudder’s mine. It not be so far and yo all be looked after up dere,’ he suggested.

  ‘Lester, that’s a great idea. I’ll suggest that. I’m sure Matthew can always find some reason to go to the mine. And Connor too.’

  Lester looked relieved to once again see a smile on Madi’s face. But her effusiveness disappeared as the reality that someone had seriously tried to injure or even kill her, continued to dominate her thinking, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it. God, what had she gotten herself into?

  Matthew and Connor swiftly agreed to a few days at Guyminco. Both had been appalled at the story she’d related of the hit and run attack. Matthew spoke to his boss and the following day he drove Connor and Madi up to the mine.