Plantation A Legal Thriller

by J M S Macfarlane

  Chapter 57

  After spending five days in Chile and a very productive round of business meetings, he flew into Buenos Aires, where he was given an unusual reception. As soon as he presented his passport to the customs officer, he was asked to go to a nearby office, escorted by two policemen. His bag was placed on a side table, opened, rummaged through and various items examined by another customs man.

  “You are a British citizen, Senor Ashby ?”

  “I am – but I’m resident in the United States where I work.”

  “You travel very much, I see – Nicaragua – why did you go there ?”

  “To see business clients.”

  “Colombia, Ecuador, Peru.....Chile – what were you doing there ?”

  “Again, seeing clients. I travel a great deal in my work.”

  “Why have you come to Argentina, senor ?”

  “I’m an underwriter. I work for a large American company, Texas Fire & Guaranty in Houston. Here is my card. I’m here to do business with some of our Argentine clients. You can ring my Houston office if you want to check. Is there a problem ?”

  “American company.....” The customs officer examined the card.

  “Please turn out your pockets.”

  After everything he had on him was on the table, the customs man looked at each of them closely. “Just wait here for a moment,” and his wallet and address book were taken away. A quarter of an hour later, the officer returned and handed him back his things. He then said “Who will you be seeing in our country ?”

  “Quite a few business people. Is there something wrong ? Have I done anything wrong ?”

  “Please answer my question.”

  “Well, let me show you my business papers. You’ll probably look at them anyway.” From his briefcase, he took out a bundle of letters from Argentine companies and said “Here, see for yourself.”

  The officer read through them and spent the next fifteen minutes writing down names, addresses and phone numbers.

  “My company deals with some very large organizations – we even insure things for your government. Some of our clients are foreign multinationals with factories in Argentina. Others are large landowners, beef producers, cattle ranchers, some of the largest companies in the country. And the business we do with them is worth ten of millions of US dollars.”

  “Where will you be travelling to, while you’re here ?”

  “In the provinces of Buenos Aires, Santa Fe and maybe Cordoba – there are ranchers there I might visit.”

  “You will not be travelling south ?”

  “No.”

  “And while you are in Buenos Aires, where will you be staying ?”

  “The Marriott Plaza.”

  At this stage, the customs officer went to the end of the room and spoke in an undertone to a colleague. From what he could pick up of the conversation, the other officer wanted Ashby to be refused entry while the one who had interviewed him, repeatedly mentioned “Americanos”. Avoidance of an incident involving the US Embassy settled the matter.

  “Senor Ashby, you are free to go.”

  This was his first taste of a military dictatorship where people were arrested and never heard of again.

  When he got to his hotel, in the foyer were what appeared to be two plainclothes policemen, calmly reading newspapers and keeping an eye on who was arriving and leaving.

  That afternoon, from his hotel window, he could see in the street below, a demonstration of around twenty thousand people. A long line of protestors were chanting slogans as they marched to the city centre. They were complaining about the corruption in parts of the government. Pictures of ‘Los Desparacidos’ – those who had been kidnapped and murdered by the army, were paraded by the crowd.

  Later, he took a walk around the centre of town. Many of the buildings were from a grandiose, bygone era. Occasionally, he was reminded of the poor, seaside cities in northern Spain like Oviedo or La Coruna ; the cafes and shops had a distinct Iberian flavour but from ten years earlier. Groups of soldiers or sailors were to be seen here and there, in the parks with their girlfriends or sitting in the cafes watching the protest.

  He picked up a newspaper lying on a bench and sat down to read it. Although his Spanish was basic, he could understand the gist of what it said – lots of demonstrations were going on every day ; military exercises by the army in the south ; warnings about kidnappings by the revolutionary guerrilla movement ; a strike planned by bus workers for the day after next ; people being assassinated.

  Two articles caught his eye in the international news. One was headed : “South American Countries Oppose Neo-Colonialism”. The Falklands – ‘Las Malvinas’ were mentioned. Apparently Brazil, Peru, Uruguay and Venezuela supported Argentina’s claim to sovereignty.

  Another article complained : “Britain Refuses To Negotiate at UN on Malvinas”. A picture of the British Prime Minister had the caption : “The leader of a third-rate power which cannot defend itself.” The author said that in the budget austerity cuts of the British Conservative government, defence spending had been slashed to the bone. Only one Royal Navy ship operated in the South Atlantic and even that was to be withdrawn. With over three million unemployed at the start of 1982, defence spending was one of the first cutbacks to be made. So said the article. It made Britain sound like a pushover who wouldn’t bother defending the Falklands if the UN negotiations folded.

  The next day, he rang each of the clients he was scheduled to visit. Texas Fire stayed close to the brokers but even closer to its customers. It liked to do surveys every so often. Ashby had already met and entertained some of the Argentineans in Houston, months earlier. Fairweather’s company was unusual for this and valued long term associations. It wasn’t trying to cut the brokers out or steal their clients – if such a thing was possible. No-one ‘owns’ a client (although many think they do.) At any rate, Chuck Fairweather liked to keep track of the risks he was securing, by doing inspections or audits and without using loss adjusters. He saw this as good business. He had first-hand knowledge of the client, kept up friendly relations with them, paid their claims without quibbling and went on to retain the business over decades. In comparison, Texas Fire’s competitors kept their clients at arms length and seemed unconcerned whether they stayed with them or went somewhere else.

  The Argentine State Oil company and the Federal Health Department both had offices which were fairly close, in the business district. In Buenos Aires province, he was to tour a pharmaceutical company. The other clients were a fair distance outside the capital.

  In Santa Fe Province, there was an auto parts manufacturer and also a food processing company. He’d also arranged to take a tour of an American-owned tyre factory. To the west was a cattle rancher in Cordoba province, if he had time to travel that far.

  He began with the Federal Health Department which supplied medicine to hospitals throughout the country and to the military. Texas Fire had a programme protecting the government warehouses where medicines were stockpiled ready for use. Some medicines deteriorated if not used in time and all government warehouses were covered against fire, accidents and Acts of God.

  When they gave him the updated information about how their department operated, they said they wanted US$750 million protection in various layers. Ashby noticed that the stockpile had increased by two thousand per cent from a year before. It seemed they were expecting an epidemic. Or a disaster like an earthquake where a lot of people would be injured. Or perhaps a war. A large amount of the stockpile was in warehouses in the south of the country in Santa Cruz province, almost at the tip of the South American peninsula and adjacent to the Falklands.

  His next stop was the national oil producer which was within walking distance. He’d already met their risk manager in Houston and was taken to a restaurant where they met the brokers.

  The speciality of the house was New York sirloin. “You must try our wine, Senor Ashby,” recommended the brokers from City First’s Buenos
Aires office. A long lunch over several bottles of Cabernet and Rioja then followed as the renewal information for two of the oil refineries was brought out and briefly explained.

  One of the refineries produced aviation fuel. The production run had increased in the order of five hundred per cent in the prior six months and was rising. Someone was using a lot of it. Argentina had a small national airline and the amount of air traffic in the country was low. It had to be going somewhere. For jet fighters or in missiles perhaps ?

  When he got back to his hotel late that night, feeling the worse for wear, there was a handwritten note on the floor which had been pushed under the door. It was in English and read “Urgent. Must see you. Plaza de Mayo, near the fountain, 9 O’Clock.”

  It was long after nine by the time he got back. It was probably a note from a broker wanting to see him. At any rate, there was no point worrying about it as it was unsigned. If anyone was desperate to speak to him, they knew where to find him. He threw the note in the bin.