“Sure, baby.” She nodded. “Can you give me a few names? At least, as a starting point.”
“We don’t know exactly who’s submitting. But you can definitely start with the Americans and the Chinese. Maybe the Germans.”
“Okay. What do you need?”
“Numbers. Budgets. Blueprints. Anything you can get your hands on.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.” She looked at him with a slow smile. “But it’s going to cost extra.” Godfredo laughed. “How much?”
“Triple my hourly rate.”
“Triple?!” Godfredo baulked. Never mind the doeeyed simplicity act: this woman knew what she wanted. “Double,” he countered.
She was silent for a moment, her lips pressed together. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.” She held out one French-manicured hand, and he shook it.
“If you find out something,” he said, “I want no record. No paper trail, no messages. You come directly to me.”
“Okay.”
Impulsively, he started laughing. “I can’t wait to hear how you … acquire the information!”
“Yeah.” Sofia sighed. “Me too. I imagine it’s gonna require an extra skillset.” She picked up her bag. “So if you want to hear about that part of it, you’ll need to pay me triple.”
“Holy Toledo, you drive a hard bargain!” Godfredo said. “Okay. Triple. But it better be a good story.”
She smiled and, teetering on tiptoes, kissed him on the cheek. Godfredo grunted. Transfixed, he watched her as she walked, unhurried, down the path.
“And it’s only because you’re good at negotiating!” he called after her.
She turned and blew him a kiss.
Chapter Seventeen
American Embassy, Clayton, Panama
“Enter!” Larry Roebuck looked up and replaced the receiver. “Dr. Siegel. Have a seat. Leave the door open.” He raised his voice a notch. “Summers! Coffee!” He made a vague hand movement to indicate it was safe to close the door now.
John Siegel Junior obediently closed the door.
Roebuck came around from behind the desk and stood in front of one of his Chippendale chairs. “Please have a seat.”
Siegel stretched his lips slightly, and Roebuck presumed it to be a smile.
“I’ll get to the point, Dr. Siegel. Can I call you John?”
Siegel gave a curt nod as he sat on the baby blue velvet sofa.
“John, a set of blueprints has arrived on my desk.”
“Blueprints?”
“Yes. I’m no expert, but it looks like a design for a set of locks. I was hoping you could clarify.”
“They’re not from me.” Siegel was already defensive, but Roebuck had been expecting this.
“Then perhaps you can take a look?” He handed Siegel a manila envelope. It was addressed to ‘The Ambassador.’
Siegel paused for a moment, and Roebuck saw a shadow of doubt in his expression.
Roebuck waited.
“Okay, I’ll take a look.” Siegel opened the envelope, and Roebuck watched his frown go from one of concentration to one of concern as he pored over the scanned pages, turning them ninety degrees occasionally, to read the notes.
Finally, he looked up. “And this came in the post?”
“Somebody dropped it in our mailbox.”
“Who?”
“That’s where I was hoping you could help.”
“Is there more?”
Roebuck shook his head.
Siegel laid the envelope’s contents on the coffee table in front of him. “We have a problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“First of all, I shouldn’t be looking at this.”
“Whyever not?”
“I can’t see their whole design,” Siegel said, tapping the papers, in front of him, “but it’s enough for me to know that this is part of a bidding plan for the expansion of the Panama Canal.”
“What?!”
“For me to be looking at this …” He looked very concerned. “It’s in direct contravention of the rules.”
“Oh gosh, I am so sorry to put you in this position!” Roebuck said. “If I’d known—”
“It’s alright.” Siegel said. “What’s done is done.” He was silent for a moment.
Roebuck waited.
“What worries me more …” Siegel seemed to stop himself.
“Go on.”
“What worries me is that whoever did this is very, very good.” He grimaced, and rubbed his forehead. “I shouldn’t have seen it.” After a moment, Siegel looked at Roebuck. “Sir, I’d like to show this to my team, but I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Agreed, agreed,” Roebuck said hurriedly. “Let’s contain it for now.” He stood up and scooped the envelope off the table. “I’m so sorry to have bothered you.”
But Siegel remained seated.
“John?” Roebuck looked at him.
Siegel sighed. “Whichever team this is—and I have my theories—their technical rating is going to be extremely high.”
“Well, I expect the standards would be—”
“I’m afraid it has serious consequences for us.”
“For …?”
“For the United States. For our submission.”
“How so?” Roebuck sat once more, and looked at Siegel intently.
“Sir, you understand there are two parts to the bidding?”
Roebuck nodded. “The technical and the financial.”
“Yes. And if we can’t beat this design for the technical part of the challenge—which unfortunately I now see as a distinct possibility—we have no option but to come in with a very low bid for the financial part.”
“This design is that good? But now that you’ve seen these prints, can you not adjust your technical proposal?”
Siegel shook his head. “Impossible. We are too close to deadline. It would take months to change our concept at this stage.”
He sighed. “We had roughly five-point-five billion as our best-case scenario,” he said, almost to himself. “If we went down to five billion, or four-point-eight …?” He stood up and sat down again. He shook his head. “No, that’s madness. We wouldn’t make a cent. We might even run at a loss.”
Roebuck exhaled slowly. “Okay. So what would be a good figure? What would be unbeatable?”
Siegel shook his head. “I don’t know.” He paused. “Do you have any idea who sent you these plans?”
“No!” Roebuck held up his hands. “But if you’re suggesting we could try and get more information, you know I can’t get involved.”
Siegel nodded. “Then we need to bid low.”
“How low?”
“Five billion.”
“Five billion?” Roebuck’s eyebrows shot up. “What was your original figure, again?”
“Five-point-five. But, look, we can still make it worth our while if we request some kind of financial support from Washington.”
Roebuck now increased the distance between them, very slightly. He shook his head, warily. “I’m afraid that’s not a possibility, John. You know the tender regulations. The nearest thing would be perhaps some tax credit—”
“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of this situation.” Roebuck now allowed himself to show indignation at the tone Siegel was taking. “I’m sorry, Dr. Siegel, but that’s the way these things work. You know that. The US government can’t be seen to be—”
“No.” Siegel stood up once more. He pointed at Roebuck with his forefinger, his gray eyes unflinching. He looked hot and he looked flustered. “Contact Washington,” he demanded. “I think you’ll find this project carries a bit more weight than you realize.”
As Summers appeared in the doorway, bearing a tray of coffee cups, Siegel added, “Let me know the minute you hear anything.”
He pushed past Summers and was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
Marriott Hotel, Obarrio, Panama City
Paco
was perched on the arm of the sofa in his hotel suite, with the phone to his ear. He checked his watch for the third time.
“Francisco?”
Paco jumped to his feet. “Jesus. You took your time.”
“Apologies. My job at the canal isn’t getting any less busy these days. As you can well imagine.” His friend’s laugh came down the line.
“We’re close to deadline and I haven’t received a price yet.”
“I know, I know. But I have no control over that.”
“Well, you better do something.” Paco started pacing. “Find a way to speed it up.”
“The minute I get confirmation, I’ll let you know. What I can tell you is that it looks like the Americans will run a low number.”
“I need more than that.”
“And you’ll get it. Just be patient.” There was a pause. “Say, what’s your team like? Did they enjoy my beach house on Contadora?”
Paco smiled, and gave a short laugh. “That’s the good news; they had a blast. And the result is much better than we could have hoped for.”
“Excellent, excellent.”
“So, tell me, who is your source for the numbers?”
“It’s safer for you not to know.”
“Fair enough. But I’ve got one last question: is this guy working for you? Or are you working for him?”
“How do you know it’s a man?!” His laugh exploded down the line. “Ah, Francisco. The old Francisco. Always trying to be in control.”
The line went dead.
Chapter Nineteen
CLASSIFIED BY: Roebuck, Ambassador; REASON:
1.4(B), (D)
April 9, 2009
1. (C) On the morning of April 9 an anonymous envelope arrived addressed to ‘Ambassador Roebuck, the Ambassador of the United States.’ It contained an incomplete copy of engineering blueprints for a Panama Canal expansion submission. The source of this information is unknown, and an investigation is underway.
2. (C) The Ambassador subsequently requested an immediate meeting with expert engineer, John Siegel Jr (head of Siegel US engineering consortium) to verify the nature of these documents. He confirmed that they did not belong to the US team, and he concluded they were plans for the Panama Canal expansion, leaked from another competitor. He was extremely concerned that the quality of this submission might be far above that of the current US technical proposal. Accordingly, he has requested the Ambassador enquire about government subsidy. The Ambassador advised against this, due to strict submission regulations.
Chapter Twenty
American Embassy, Clayton, Panama
“Ambassador Roebuck, were you out of your mind?”
“Madam Secretary.” Roebuck swung his office chair so he could greet Rebecca Eisenhower, the US Secretary of State, via a video call.
“First of all: John Siegel should never have seen those documents!” Eisenhower’s face was incredulous.
“Ma’am, it was an honest mistake. I’m not an expert, I assumed they were the original canal blueprints.”
“Where did they come from?”
“We’re not sure yet.”
“Okay, but let me get this straight … John Siegel thinks—based on these anonymous plans—that the United States might be out of the game? How does that work?”
“Ma’am, if those documents are to be believed—and John Siegel says they’re the real deal—then this other engineering team have a very, very strong technical proposal, and it’s much too late in the day for Siegel’s team to change their whole concept.”
Eisenhower frowned. “How can this concept be so different from any of the others? Surely there are only ‘x’ number of permutations, given the parameters they’re dealing with: big river, wetlands, existing canal—”
“Ma’am, I’m not the expert. But what I can tell you is that Siegel is very concerned. He believes the only way the United States can be competitive now is to offer a very, very low bidding price. Otherwise, the risk of losing is too high.”
“Well, I’ve already spoken with the President and with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and we are in agreement that we can’t ignore this. Especially if it turns out those plans are part of a Chinese submission. We can’t take the risk.” She paused, leaning forward in her chair. “Look, I’m sure you’re aware, Chinese influence and control of world trade has reached unprecedented levels.”
Roebuck nodded soberly.
“We believe having a US team on the expansion would get us one step closer to having a bigger say in what happens to the canal in the future. At least, regain some level of influence.”
“So what would you suggest, then?”
“Well, for a start, Siegel is right: we need to get creative about funding.”
“Ma’am, government financial involvement is not permitted.” Roebuck was emphatic.
“We can find a way around that. Tax credits, deferred payments; we have the means to make this work. I’ll start the wheels in motion over here, and you speak to Siegel and find out how much help they need.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. “If we don’t win this one, I can tell you there are more than a few interested parties in Congress who’ll make it their business to obstruct anything the party brings to the table in the future.” She smiled wryly. “And I do not want to have to deal with the fallout of any world-record-breaking filibusters, regardless of how much I may agree with the sentiment.”
“Of course, Ma’am.”
Roebuck didn’t bother to mention that it was precisely those ‘interested parties’ who had supported his Ambassadorship in the first place: the ones who—right from the beginning—had opposed the Torrijos–Carter Treaties that put the canal and its profits back into the hands of the Panamanians by the end of 1999.
“Keep me informed. In black-and-white, Larry. I need a paper trail.”
“I shall, Madam Secretary. Give my best to the President.”
Gently, he replaced the receiver in its cradle.
He hit the intercom button.
“Summers! Get John Siegel back in here as fast as you can.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Contadora, Pearl Islands, Bay of Panama
May, 2009
Max opened the door of the villa that was his living quarters to see Alex Wong on the doorstep. Her face was shiny from the heat, her hair pulled away from her neck, and she was carrying a cheap, nylon lace fan she’d picked up on a trip to the mainland a few weeks ago.
“What happened to your face?”
But it wasn’t just her face. It seemed like her entire body was covered in small red bites, some of them inflamed and weeping, others scabbing over.
Max beckoned her in. “For God’s sake, take off your shoes,” Max implored. “You make me feel hot and itchy just looking at you.”
She stood in the hallway under the ceiling fan, but wouldn’t go any further.
“If this is about all the unexpected visits from Paco, I apologize,” he said. “I don’t think he’s trying to put pressure on us. I think it’s his way of—”
“It’s not that.” She looked up, at the villa’s ceiling, and when she breathed out, it was with a slight shudder. “How am I expected to keep on living and working in this environment?”
“Is it too luxurious for you?” he teased gently. He’d hoped to get a smile, but for one terrifying moment it looked as though she might be about to cry.
“I have no privacy whatsoever!” she blurted. “My room opens onto the beachfront, and there are constantly … women there, wearing practically nothing. One of them even wandered inside, casual as you like, and helped herself to my hand cream.”
Max noticed that her once crisp linen dress looked saggy, and her patent black pumps were now scuffed and dusty from weeks of wear and tear in the sand. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
“This morning there was no breakfast anywhere. Not until eleven o’clock! That’s lunch
time, Max. I don’t know where a shop is, and I couldn’t get those stupid, bloody golf buggies to work. I tried to find a shop by walking, but I got bitten by so many of those bloody chitra sandfly midge things—”
“Hey, Alex,” Max interrupted her. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s really not okay.” The tears were seeping now from the corners of her eyes. “Last night, I was kept awake nearly all night with the noise from yet another party. And on top of that, I’m lactose intolerant.” She swallowed a sob. “There’s no soy milk for my muesli.”
“Oh, Alex, why didn’t you say before? I’m so sorry. I’ll get them to order some in.”
She wiped her eyes. “It’s really not that. I can live without muesli.”
“Then …? Tell me what I can do.”
“Max, this is the chance of a lifetime in my career, don’t get me wrong, I know that. But …” she gulped. “I’m living with … with prostitutes.” She wrung her hands together. “I’m an award-winning scientist! If my parents knew I was living like this …” She took a long, shuddering breath. “I could never, ever tell them. They would be so ashamed of me.” She started sobbing.
“Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry.” Max paused, trying to digest it all. “Okay. So I’ll find out if you can switch rooms with one of the others, and I’ll see if we can get you a refrigerator. We’ll get ourselves some wheels first thing tomorrow morning, okay? And we’ll make sure we just keep running our ship the way we’re used to running it.”
Alex’s lips were pressed together but he could see her lower lip quivering. “I don’t know if I can,” she said. “I’m so tired. I’m getting less sleep than when Lucy was a newborn.” Her voice cracked. “I miss her so much.”
Max tried not to look too concerned, but he was. Alex rarely spoke about her daughter, and never about her parents: she was ferocious in her defense of her privacy, under normal circumstances. But he had to admit, this environment was a far cry from normal. A far cry from that which he’d observed to be Alex’s usual, orderly life.
The Expansion Page 8