“Sofia,” Max called out.
Sofia turned. Her breasts were even more magnificent in full, coastal sunlight. He felt like offering her his t-shirt.
“Si, Señor Max?”
“Sofia, these are my colleagues, Dr. Gian Tarocco, and Dr. Alexandra Wong.” He looked at Alex. “And this is Sofia. She’s an employee of Godfredo Roco.”
Sofia held out her hand. “Doctora Alexandra,” she said, by way of a greeting. “Doctor Gian.”
Alex’s mouth was hanging open. She managed a strangled, “Hello.”
Tarocco was mute, his eyes wide.
As Sofia started walking again, Alex turned to Max. She gripped his arm. “And what about our bags? Moyle lent me some of his drafting equipment. And it’s expensive.”
Max nodded. “Don’t worry. Godfredo’s bringing them all in the buggy. They’ll probably all be in your room by now.”
“How do you know?”
“As far as I can tell, Alex, ninety-nine percent of the people staying on this island couldn’t give a damn about our equipment. It’s not going anywhere; believe me.”
Alex’s face conveyed her incomprehension.
Sofia turned to them again, this time holding out a bronzed arm to indicate the villa to their right. “Welcome,” she said, and started making her way toward it.
The villa looked just as impressive from the seafront, Max had to admit. He turned to Alex. “Please don’t jump to conclusions,” he said, with a wry smile. “Godfredo’s outdone himself with the office set-up. It’s more than I could have hoped for. Trust me.”
Alex nodded slowly. Her face relaxed. “I’m sure it’s fine, Max,” she said. “I’m looking forward to getting started.”
Max smiled again. “Me too. It’s good to have you here.”
As they walked into the villa, he held his breath, hoping only that the dregs of last night’s party had been sent on their way … and that the ones who remained were wearing more than bikinis.
Chapter Fourteen
Smithsonian Tropical Institute, Panama
March, 2009
As Karis Deen walked the long hallway of the residence building that was her temporary home, she heard her cellphone ringing.
Pulling the phone out of her bag, she cast a look around her.
The place was quiet: very few people were on this part of the premises at lunchtime.
“Sir?” she spoke into the phone.
“Are you free to talk?”
“I am.” She stopped and unlocked one of the doors, and stepped inside. She closed the door behind her.
“This is purely information: we’ll be pulling you out in August.”
“That’s early.” She threw her bag on the bed under the window and opened the sash; the room was automatically air-conditioned and, as usual, it was too cold.
“Yes. A couple months earlier than we thought.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Training.”
“For …?”
“A new facility. I was only able to recommend five of my reports. And you’re one of them.”
Karis waited, but there was no information forthcoming. “Can you send me some more details?”
“No. It’s highly classified. All I know is that you’ll be picked up at Dulles. You’ll be sent flight details. That’s all I can give you right now.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll get a full briefing once you get there—”
There was a crash and the door flew open.
Karis snapped the phone shut.
Dalisha was standing in the doorway holding an enormous plate of fried rice. Her mouth was full, and she had papers jammed under one arm, against her body.
“Far out,” Karis said. “Don’t you ever knock?”
“Don’t hafta,” Dalisha mumbled, through food. She swallowed. “It’s my room too, you big princess.” She attempted to drop the papers on the bed, but they slid out and across the floor. Rolling her eyes, she ignored them and sat herself on the second bed, which was in the corner of the room furthest from the window. She started shoveling more food into her mouth. “You had lunch yet?” she asked. “Meeting starts in ten.”
Karis shook her head; one of the younger scientists at the Institute had organized a round-table discussion with the express purpose of coming up with a media and blogging strategy to inform the public about each new phase of the expansion project, and its impact on the environment. Karis had quickly observed that the guy was inexperienced and disorganized. He may have had good intentions, but she knew from her own experience that a message is only ever as effective as the people who carry it.
“You invited the Director to this meeting?” Karis started removing her shoes.
Dalisha, her mouth full again, frowned. “No. He says as long as we’re not doing it under the Institute’s name, we have every right to say what we think.” She chewed silently for a moment, observing Karis. “Don’t you care what’s going on? Imagine what’s going to happen once they start digging. This is huge!”
“Of course I care. But I have to call my brother back in fifteen minutes. That was him on the phone just now.”
“Oh.” That seemed to satisfy Dalisha for the moment. “Is he okay?”
Karis nodded. “He wants me to go back home, to Iowa.”
“But you told him ‘no’?”
“I told him I’d call him back.”
“That’s too bad.” Dalisha looked concerned. “Can I help?”
Karis opened her mouth to respond, but wasn’t sure what to say.
“Well, let me know.” Dalisha put the plate on her bed and made her way to the door. “Catch you later,” she said, and was gone.
Karis looked at the empty doorframe.
It was at times like this that she knew she was on thin ice. The constant need to draw on and invent stories that held no meaning: stories about a brother or a mother, or some family dynamic or other. Because who was she to know what it was like to have a flesh-and-blood family waiting for you at Christmas or Thanksgiving? To have a proper home?
She lay back and let warm air roll into the room and over her face, glad she’d pulled her bed across to the window.
The dense, tropical heat of this country didn’t bother her.
Being shut in a cold room did.
Chapter Fifteen
Contadora, Pearl Islands, Bay of Panama
April, 2009
Godfredo had been awake for some time, but opted not to get out of bed in favor of a few more minutes listening to the waves lapping the beach outside his window.
It wasn’t a crime to enjoy doing absolutely nothing after a long, hot night with the boundlessly energetic Sofia.
This morning, he’d requested she stay on longer. She’d declined this time, although—surprisingly—she had seemed genuinely sorry.
“I can’t, baby. I gotta go put out some fires.”
She’d been talking about her other job at New Horizons, which was a peculiarly Panamanian establishment also known as a push-button, a place where love hungry couples could rent rooms by the hour. She was one of the managers.
Godfredo knew the place, because he’d unexpectedly had to take a detour past it one afternoon, when Sofia had been called in to deal with a middle-aged couple who’d rented a room to get away from their kids and then refused to pay for their drinks.
As he waited out front for her, he’d become increasingly impatient, not aided by the fact that when she finally emerged from the front office, she seemed to be in no particular hurry, apparently languishing in the unconcealed stares of punters as they cruised along the motel-style strip in their cars.
“Why the fuck do you waste your time with this place?” he’d asked her, irritated, as she slipped back into the car. “Who gives a shit about a mom and pop who won’t pay for a bowl of olives? I can think of way better uses of your time.” He watched as she put on her seatbelt, seemingly nonplussed.
“Seriously, Sofia,” he said. �
��I pay you enough to retire tomorrow and never lift a finger again.”
“You do, baby,” she’d said, turning to him with a smile. “But I like lifting my finger.”
Thinking of her now, as he lay on the bed—of her incredible breasts, of their weight in his hands—Godfredo felt blood pulse in his groin.
The door to the villa flew open.
“Get up!”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Godfredo, fumbling, pulled on his trousers, and reached for his belt. “You said you were coming after lunch.”
Paco looked around the room with a mock-curious expression. “What, no lapdog?”
“She’s not a dog.”
Paco’s laugh boomed. “Okay, whatever you say.” He became serious. “When’re you going to get that set of numbers to me?”
“Settle down, I’ve nearly finished the first budget. Did you fly in just now with the heli?” Godfredo hoped to slow his father’s trajectory a little with small talk.
Paco wasn’t buying it. “Of course I flew in. You think I got out of bed at four o’clock to swim from the mainland?”
Godfredo reached for his shirt, and couldn’t help smiling: there was no circumstance imaginable under which Paco would get up at four a.m. to see anyone, least of all his son. The exception being if there was a problem with one of his stupid racehorses over at the Hippodrome.
“Where’s the team? Not still in bed, I hope.” Paco’s eyes were scanning the room.
“Eating breakfast maybe?”
“No.”
“Okay …” Godfredo reached for his phone and dialed. “Max? Where are you guys?” He paused. “Okay, I’ll be there in five. Or less. With Dad.” He ended the call and looked at his father. “Your slaves are in the office.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“Well, a bit of fucking warning would’ve been nice.”
Godfredo slipped on his shoes, tucking in his shirt as they walked.
The only thing that took the edge off his own indignation at being found still in bed at nine a.m. with a boner the size of the Matterhorn was that Paco couldn’t argue with the fact that the work was indeed getting done.
“I heard Burns is keeping them all on their toes,” Paco said. His pace was quick.
“That’s what we’re paying him for.”
“He goes jogging every morning.” Paco seemed to find this amusing. “You might wanna take some tips from him.”
Godfredo grit his teeth. “I do my bit. Just not at six fucking a.m.”
“What’s the hydrogeologist like?”
“Wong?” Godfredo turned to Paco. “She’s a pedantic smart-ass robot. And she hates alcohol.” He opened the door to the main office. “She’s on the mainland today with the surveying guys, thank Christ. You can go visit her if you like.”
Paco snorted. “In your dreams.”
Max, to his credit, gave no indication that he was taken off guard by Paco’s visit, and ushered them to the center of the room, where architectural drawings were displayed on large LCD screens along each wall.
“We’re just working on how we’re going to communicate the designs for the presentation,” he said.
The office now looked like a hi-tech museum exhibit, with a graphic interface presented on a large screen and several monitors spanning the southern wall. The local Panamanian ecologists had set themselves up in a cluster of workstations on the eastern wall.
“Looks good,” Paco said, as his eyes swept the array of blueprints on the floor and finally came to rest on the large screen. “But what’s gonna make it special?”
“The water-saving percentages.”
Paco looked at the ceiling, and clasped his hands together, feigning prayer. “Hallelujah!” He looked at Max again. “How much?”
“Sixty percent.”
“Sixty?” Paco’s jaw dropped. He looked at Godfredo.
Godfredo nodded. “Max’s idea uses gravity, not pumps, and it makes the overall running costs really low. Plus, the ecologists will love it.” He grinned at Max.
“Please take a look at the map,” Max said, pointing to the map on the wall. “The original idea was to put a dam here, and thus create a third lake. But this area here is now inhabited by one of the indigenous tribes, who moved in about a decade ago.”
“So move them.”
Godfredo shook his head. “Relocating them would add on millions to the overall cost. Anyway, there’s no need any more.”
“Brilliant!” Paco boomed. “So what can you show me? You’ve got a package you’re working on?”
“It’s just a mock-up …” Max turned to Tarocco. “Gian?”
Tarocco bashed his keyboard for a bit and the big screen came to life with a smooth, rotating representation of the three-tiered water basins.
“There’ll be a voiceover, like, you know …” Tarocco cleared his throat and adopted a deep, Hollywood blockbuster voice. “Bigger than the five-step Trigorges Dam in China, and yet sixty percent of Panama’s life-giving water, every step of the way, is retained. After three full cycles, the water is released, and a fresh intake is initiated, making these gravity-driven water pipes the largest lock footprint—and the most efficient lock system—in the world.”
Max laughed as Tarocco dragged out the last word for maximum effect.
“Enjoying our five seconds of fame, are we?” he teased. He turned back to Paco. “We don’t think the other teams will come up with anywhere near as high a reutilization rate.”
“Well, I gotta say … that’s quite something!” Paco nodded silently at each person in the room. “I’m very, very impressed.” He looked at Max. “Can I take a copy of these blueprints with me? And I’d like an update every week.”
“Yes, of course,” Max nodded. He rifled through papers on a nearby desk and pulled out some sheets. He rolled them up and handed them to Paco.
Paco pumped his hand for what seemed like an age. “Well done, son. Well done.”
Chapter Sixteen
Contadora, Pearl Islands, Bay of Panama
“Well done, son.”
Paco’s words echoed in Godfredo’s head.
When had Paco goddamn Roco ever called anyone his son?
Godfredo felt a familiar, rising anger. Really, he had no idea what went on in his father’s head.
He bit his tongue, determined not to say a word until they were out of earshot of the villa that housed the consortium’s office.
Before he could open his mouth, however, Paco stopped walking and turned to him.
“Godfredo.”
“No, Dad, you listen to me—”
Paco put a hand on Godfredo’s shoulder, and—force of habit—Godfredo stopped talking immediately.
“Good job.” Paco said.
“Huh?”
“That’s good work you did there. You pulled an impressive team together.”
“Oh. Right.” Godfredo wasn’t sure what to say.
Paco offered him a cigarette, and then the lighter. “I’m giving you credit for this now, but it’s crucial—for both of us—that Max feels he’s responsible for any successes we might encounter.”
“What?” Godfredo squinted as he lit the cigarette. He handed the lighter back to his father. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just good business. Good psychology. You make someone feel responsible …”—Paco took a long drag of his own cigarette and exhaled—“… and they don’t question you when you hold them responsible.”
“Come on,” Godfredo shook his head, incredulous, and looked away. “You don’t seriously think we’re gonna need to do that, do you? We’re on a winner here, Dad. You saw the designs. Max is a fucking genius.”
Paco pointed his cigarette at Godfredo. “That kind of thinking is gonna get us in trouble.”
“No it won’t.”
“You’re a Roco,” Paco barked. “My blood.” He stared hard at Godfredo. “If the Americans or the Chinese want to win this contract, believe me, kid, they’ll find a way.” He
jabbed at Godfredo once more with his cigarette. “You better do what I say. And keep your fucking opinion to yourself.” He paused. “There’s a race on this afternoon. I’m going back to the mainland. Send me those figures as soon as you can.”
Paco flicked his cigarette into a bed of flowers under a nearby palm tree and, with that, strode away.
Godfredo stood alone on the grass expanse for some time after Paco left.
For a moment, he had the sense that maybe—just maybe—his father had a point. Who was he to doubt that his father, in his own way, had their best interests at heart?
As he smoked the rest of his cigarette, he paced.
He didn’t hear Sofia until she was standing at his elbow.
She wore a sheer, halter-neck top and a pair of long black pants: wide-legged and silky, with a delicious slit up the side of each leg. She carried her overnight bag, clearly poised to say her farewells before catching the next ferry.
“What?” It was more of a statement than a question.
Sofia put a hand on his arm. “Baby, I saw you talking with Señor Paco.”
Godfredo ground his cigarette butt under the toe of his shoe. “So you’re spying on us now?”
“Of course not. That’s not my line of business.”
He sighed. “Shame.”
“Yeah.” She gave him a consoling look. “What do you mean?”
“I could use some information.”
“Who from?” She put her bag on the ground at her feet.
Godfredo laughed. “You’re serious?”
Sofia shrugged. “My business model can be flexible.” She treated him to one of her genuine smiles.
Godfredo nodded slowly. “Okay.” He considered her for a moment. “Do you have any idea what we’re doing here? Me and Max?”
Sofia shrugged again, in her usual nonchalant fashion, yet, when she spoke, she was direct. “The Panama Canal expansion. You’re putting in a bid. And that’s why you brought in Max and Alexandra.”
“Right.” He cast a brief look around them, lest they had an audience, but the garden was quiet. “Now I’m thinking it might be good to get as much information about our competitors as we can.”
The Expansion Page 7