“And now …” Gonzáles’s voice broke through, booming.
The crowd grew silent once more.
“And now … the critical part, accounting for sixty percent of the overall score.” He leaned into the microphone. “The envelopes containing the price proposals will be opened.”
The dominant sound was the scritch-scratching of Gonzáles’s clothing as he walked across the stage, the microphone in his hand brushing against his suit.
When he reached the plexiglass box, he put his hand in to pull out four envelopes.
“In no particular order …” he began.
He looked at the name on the front of the envelope. “DBK Löwenhof,” he announced.
He passed the envelope to the President, who inspected the seal, nodded his approval and handed it back.
“The first envelope has been inspected, and I am free to announce … in US dollars … Six billion, eight hundred and seventy-two million, five thousand and eighty …”
He looked up nervously, stumbling on the huge figure. “Apologies, that’s five hundred and eighty-seven thousand.”
He looked at the big screen.
The crowd was silent.
A string of digits appeared, and the crowd started to chatter and clap.
DBK/Löwenhof: US $5,400,000,000.00
Points Awarded: 4,110
“That’s it! They’re out!” Godfredo hollered. “Two to go!”
Both of them turned to the German team, who were waving their small flags in somber defeat.
The President was inspecting the second envelope. He nodded and handed it back to Gonzáles.
“Siegel,” Gonzáles announced. “In US dollars … Four billion, six hundred thousand.”
“Four billion?” Max turned to Godfredo, aghast. “That number is so low! It’s ridiculous!” He shook his head. He was more than a little disappointed. “We’re out. Fredo. We’re out.”
Siegel: US $4,000,600,000.000
Points Awarded: 5,194
With a sinking heart, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. It was Alex. She’d called four times.
“CISCO Consortium …” Gonzáles’s voice ricocheted around the auditorium.
Max slid the phone in his pocket again as Gonzáles opened the envelope.
“In US dollars … Three billion, six hundred—”
Something’s wrong.
The crowd’s roar became deafening.
Max looked around him. He grabbed Godfredo’s arm.
Godfredo’s eyes were fixed on the large screen.
Max, too, turned to the screen. “What?!”
CISCO Consortium: US $3,600,500,000.00
Points Awarded: 5,330
Max stared, uncomprehending. Three billion?
He turned to Godfredo once more. “What happened? Fredo! What happened?”
But Godfredo was still staring at the screen, his hand clamped over his mouth.
“Fredo! Talk to me!” Max shouted.
It didn’t matter now what the Tobiishi team achieved. Even with a full score they couldn’t win. CISCO were the clear winners.
“Doctor Burns! Doctor Burns, tell us how you’re feeling right now!” Each camera flash struck like lightning.
Is it possible Godfredo or Paco made an error?
He was dimly aware of Gonzáles’s voice under the sea of noise, as the big screen flashed up a final scoreboard.
Base price proposal (in US dollars)
1st place CISCO
US $3,600,500,000.00
POINTS: 5,330
2nd place Siegel
US $4,000,600,000.00
POINTS: 5,194
3rd place DBK/Löwenhof
US $5,400,000,000.00
POINTS: 4,110
4th place Tobiishi
US $6,100,000,000.00
POINTS: 3,900
Then Paco was there.
He grabbed Godfredo, and pulled him roughly toward him. Above the din, with a ventriloquist’s smile, he roared: “The cameras are on you, Godfredo!”
Too stunned to do anything but smile, Max stood between the Rocos, illuminated by blinding, staccato flashes. Slowly, it sank in: he—Max Burns—was the chief engineer of the winning team.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Balboa, Panama City, Panama
The door slammed behind him, and Max fell heavily against it.
Backstage, the long corridor was quiet. The air was mercifully cool.
Ripping off his jacket, Max wiped his brow with his sleeve. It had been like an oven under the lights and the media sun-guns in the main auditorium. And yet he knew this was only the beginning: the media would be waiting for him outside the building.
He pulled out his phone and looked at the screen. Eleven missed calls from Alex. But she’d have to wait until he had some concrete answers.
He dialed Godfredo.
Come on, Fredo, pick up!
The two of them had been separated as the crowd surged, and then he’d had no chance of finding either his friend or Paco.
That is, until he’d seen them—on the far side of the media scrum—leaving the auditorium via a side door.
When he’d tried to push through, to follow them, the media had blocked his way. “Max! Dr. Burns! This is an incredible financial proposal … How did you do it?”
Max now ended the call and loosened his tie, walking slowly along the corridor toward the room his team had been allocated.
He stopped outside the door. He knew he should join Tarocco and the rest of them, but he couldn’t go in. Not until he had something to say.
He dialed again.
A group of people were walking toward him and he turned his back, phone to his ear, hoping they wouldn’t recognize him.
Once more, he waited as Godfredo’s phone rang.
As they passed, Max could hear the people chatting.
“Did you see the look on Siegel’s face? I kinda feel sorry for him.”
“I know. God, it’s gonna be a killer party, though.”
Max turned to look: they were Americans. And if they hadn’t accosted him by now, it was unlikely they were reporters.
One of the women turned to look at him. She flashed a shy smile.
Without thinking, Max lowered his phone. She had beautiful blue eyes.
She turned away.
They all wore outdoorsy clothes, and the one who’d looked over her shoulder wore khaki cargo shorts and carried a hi-tech rucksack. A part of him wished she would turn back. She’d had a cute smile, and long, dark and wavy hair.
Sighing, he reached for the door handle. He must be out of his mind to be thinking about a stranger’s smile at a time like this.
Or maybe it was the perfect time. Because everything felt like a theatre of the absurd.
As if on cue, his phone pinged, and he glanced down to see a message from Alan.
“Bloody hell you done a good job Max. By the way the Liverpool to Leeds canal was half a ruddy lifetime to build so u better make sure u come bac fer a visit before I need a walking frame. I heard it cost em a trucklode more than they thought but don’t worry about that bit.”
Another message came in.
“The canal I mean not the walking frame. Cost a lot.”
Max waited, in case there was more to come.
There was.
“This is Alan.”
Max gave in to a smile and slipped his phone into his pocket.
He braced himself to face his team.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Obarrio, Panama City, Panama
The car came to a standstill out front of the Marriott Hotel, and the driver, Fuentes, stepped out.
Godfredo ignored the buzzing of the phone in his pocket, knowing it would be Max. He swiveled in his seat to look at his father. Paco was on the phone to the Italian steel company.
Sensing his son’s attention, perhaps, Paco turned. He lifted his free hand and mouthed, “What the fuck are you looking at?”
Godfredo turned away and reached for the door handle.
Paco’s hand landed on his arm like a vice.
Godfredo sat back in the seat, and Paco’s grip loosened.
“Ciao, Ciao, Antonio.” Paco ended the call and threw his phone onto the seat between himself and Godfredo. “They’re still in,” he announced. “They don’t like the price one little bit, but they’ll do it.”
“Nobody likes the price,” Godfredo said. “Because it’s going to be fucking impossible to do this job for less than five billion.” He shook his head. “How could you do that?!”
Fuentes opened Paco’s door, but Paco reached for the handle and pulled it abruptly. It closed with a slam.
“Why can’t anybody ever fucking wait until I’ve finished talking?!”
Fuentes moved away from the car.
Godfredo leaned forward. “Dad, why the hell did you mess with the price?! And what about our deal?” He was almost shouting by the time he finished speaking.
Without hesitating, Paco brought up his hand and whacked Godfredo hard on the back of the head. “Grow up! It’s just a number! You’ll get a good slice of whatever we walk away with. And it will be a lot.”
“God almighty! Don’t do that!” Godfredo winced, touching his ear. “You know you’re wearing a metal ring, right?”
When Paco didn’t respond, he said, “You told me you wouldn’t use that number. Because you didn’t believe Sofia could have gotten it right. Because ‘she’s a dumb lapdog.’ That’s what you said.”
Paco turned to him. “Yeah. I said that. And I meant it.”
“So why the hell did you change your mind without telling me?”
“Because, after that, the number was confirmed to me.”
“What do you mean, ‘confirmed’? By who?”
“By José Gonzáles.”
Godfredo baulked. “You mean Commissioner Gonzáles?”
“Yes. And even then, we weren’t absolutely sure that was gonna be the Americans’ final figure. So we decided to go lower.”
“Jesus. So Gonzáles is the one cutting deals with you?”
“Not with me, Godfredo. With us.”
“But how could he have known their final numbers?”
“He had an informant. I don’t know who it was. He wouldn’t tell me. And I believe it’s better for us not to know.”
Godfredo exhaled and looked out the window, trying to let it all sink in. The traffic alongside them in the street was moving slowly, in fits and starts. Fuentes was now standing patiently by the front bumper of the car.
After a moment, Godfredo turned to his father. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Dad, because if you go on springing surprises like this, Max will jump ship. If he hasn’t already.”
“Max is your department. I just need him to do the work.”
“But that’s what I’m saying! After this, he might turn around and tell us to go screw ourselves. And I wouldn’t blame him.”
Paco leaned forward, his eyes boring into Godfredo. “You listen to me,” he said. “I’ll make this thing work, like I always do. But you better step up and show me you can take care of your team, and get them ready to shovel some dirt. Can you do that? Or do I need to find someone who can?” He paused. “This game is a shark tank, and right now I can’t even tell if you can swim.”
Godfredo shook his head. “You should have told me.” He reached for the door handle once more.
He heard Paco’s door slam; Paco was already striding toward the hotel lobby. Godfredo walked slowly around the rear of the car.
Thanks for waiting, you fat fuck.
“Are you okay, Señor Godfredo?” Fuentes approached him.
Godfredo felt a surge of embarrassment.
“Of course,” he barked. “Be here to pick us up at six-thirty.”
“Yes, Señor Godfredo.”
As Fuentes went back toward the vehicle, Godfredo felt his phone vibrate once again. He stood motionless until it stopped.
He couldn’t talk to Max now. Not now.
As Fuentes drove away, Godfredo crossed the street, away from the hotel, toward the tavern. He took a seat in the quiet courtyard, beneath the grapevine canopy, and ordered three bourbons.
“Tres, Señor?”
Godfredo let loose a string of expletives, and the waitress scuttled off.
Chapter Thirty
Smithsonian Tropical Institute, Panama
“Wow, these winning designs are actually pretty good.” Dalisha was seated on the end of the bed, cross-legged, staring at a laptop screen. She was wearing only her underwear.
“The canal expansion designs?”
“Yeah, they just came online.”
Karis laughed. “See? I told you.” She tossed a pair of socks into the suitcase that sat on the armchair by the door. “You were getting all worked up over nothing.”
She scooped up a pile of clothes and dumped them on top of the socks.
“In fact …”—Dalisha now adopted a secretarial tone—“… I’m pleasantly surprised. Must be because that British geomatics guy is so hot.”
Karis laughed. “Yes, I’m sure they took the head engineers’ looks into consideration when they were assessing the bids.”
She thought again of Max Burns, whom she’d seen in the flesh that afternoon, albeit briefly. Uncharacteristically, she’d been taken by surprise: he’d been far more attractive in real life than onscreen.
She turned to look at Dalisha, and started laughing anew. “And you’ve decided to wear that to the signing ceremony tonight? At the Presidential Palace?”
Dalisha looked down at her underpants. “What’s wrong with this?”
Karis pulled out her phone and pretended to take a picture.
“Put it away, Deen.” Dalisha laughed and snapped the lid of the laptop shut. She jumped to her feet. “So far the Canal Administration’s report on the winning submission looks pretty solid, but I won’t be convinced until I’ve had time to read all their ecological reports in detail.”
“Well, if I meet any of the British guys tonight, I’ll make sure I send them your way for approval,” Karis teased.
Dalisha reached for her purple dress. She slipped it over her head. “I still can’t believe the Chinese didn’t submit a bid at all. The blogosphere is going crazy about it.”
She wriggled, pulling the fabric down over her torso.
“You’d think they’d be first in line to want to build the expansion, wouldn’t you?” she continued. “Plus, they have so much freaking money.”
“I guess.” Karis said. “But you never know what goes on behind closed doors, especially in politics.”
“How do I look?” Dalisha put her hands on her hips.
Karis smiled. “Fit for a king.”
“Or a hot engineer?”
“Sure. Or a hot engineer. Although …” Karis paused, a hand to her chin as she considered her colleague. “You might want to consider an armpit makeover?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Ha!” Dalisha snorted. She reached onto her bed and grabbed a small black bag. “Like I have time to give a shit about shaving.”
Karis grinned. “I’m teasing. You know I’d never try to tell you what to do. I’d be way too scared.”
She slipped on a pair of simple, evening sandals and fastened the ankle straps.
“I’m gonna miss you, Deen,” Dalisha said, suddenly.
“Thanks, Dalisha.” Karis smiled, looking up. “I’m gonna miss you too.”
“You want me to come to the airport with you in the morning?”
Karis shook her head. “No need.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to come back?”
“Depends how it goes with my family.”
Dalisha sighed. “Good luck with that …”
Karis smiled and closed her suitcase. She picked up a small, sequined purse. “I’d kill for a beer,” she said.
“Then let’s go!”
As she locked the door behind
them, Dalisha gave a rumbling laugh and looked at Karis, her expression cheeky. “I have absolutely no intention of behaving lawfully tonight.”
“You go, girl,” Karis laughed. “I hope you’re carrying protection.”
Chapter Thirty-One
US Embassy, Clayton, Panama
Larry Roebuck was seated at his desk in full black-tie attire.
He waited, his phone on speaker, while he was patched through to the Secretary of State, Rebecca Eisenhower.
He was unsure what her reaction to the American team’s loss would be, but he wasn’t in a hurry. He had learned that doing things properly took time, and there was nothing to be gained by submitting to impatience.
He looked out at the Embassy complex and its neat, palm-lined streets, and felt a glimmer of satisfaction as he watched the local workers sweeping up after the rain.
“Roebuck. What in God’s name happened?” The speaker came to life.
“Madame Secretary.”
“You assured me the Siegel Group was on track to win the expansion project.” ‘Irate’ wasn’t an adequate description of her tone.
“Ma’am, I’m as shocked as you are.”
“I don’t need to tell you what a media circus my staff have on their hands. The President wants answers, and I don’t have them.”
“Believe me, if I had any insight—”
“What does Siegel have to say about all this?”
“He’s baffled. And furious, of course.”
“Rightly so. Look, our concern is that the price is so low—dangerously low. Do you think Siegel’s numbers might have been leaked? The British offer doesn’t make any sense if they don’t have a safety net.”
“I agree. Has the State Department got any ideas?”
“None. Our guy in London has told me the UK government is in no way involved or subsidizing, and we have no reason to doubt that intelligence.” She paused. “Is there no other information about who might be backing the British consortium? I find it very hard to believe they can complete a project of this size for less than four billion.”
“Yes. And the cost for Panama to ameliorate a disaster if they don’t succeed …” Roebuck sighed. “It could cripple their entire economy. It could literally bankrupt the canal—and the country.”
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