A Quiver Full of Arrows (20 page)

Perez hadn’t eaten most of the food with his
hands and then proceeded to clean his fingers on the side of his jeans. The
more Sir Hamish stared at him in disbelief the more the little Mexican would
grin from ear to ear.

After dinner David Heath thought the time
had come to steer the conversation towards the real purpose of the meeting, but
not before Sir Hamish had reluctantly had to call for a bottle of brandy and a
box of cigars.

“We are looking for an agent to represent
the Graham Construction Company in Mexico, Mr. Perez, and you have been highly
recommended,” said Sir Hamish, sounding unconvinced by his own statement.

“Do call me Victor.”

Sir Hamish bowed silently and shuddered.
There was no way this man was going to be allowed to call him Hamish.

“I’d be pleased to represent you, Hamish,”
continued Perez, “provided that you find my terms acceptable.”

“Perhaps you could enlighten us as to what
those – hm, terms- might be,” said Sir Hamish slimy.

“Certainly,” said the little Mexican
cheerfully. “I require ten per cent of the agreed tender figure, five per cent
to be paid on the day you are awarded the contract and five per cent whenever you
present your completion certificates. Not a penny to be paid until you have
received your fee, all my payments deposited in an account at Credit Suisse in
Geneva within seven days ofthe National Bank of Mexico clearing your cheque.”

David Heath drew in his breath sharply and
stared down at the stone floor.

“But under those terms you would make nearly
four million dollars,” protested Sir Hamish, now red in the face.

“That’s over half our projected profit.”

“That, as I believe you say in England,
Hamish, is your problem, you fixed the tender price,” said Perez, “not me. In any
case, there’s still enough in the deal for both of us to make a handsome profit
which is surely fair as we bring half the equation to the table.”

Sir Hamish was speechless as he fiddled with
his bow tie. David Heath examined his fingernails attentively.

“Think the whole thing over, Hamish,” said
Victor Perez, sounding unperturbed, “and let me know your decision by midday
tomorrow. The outcome makes little difference to me.”

The Mexican rose, shook hands with Sir
Hamish and left. David Heath, sweating slightly, accompanied him down in the
lift. In the foyer he clasped hands damply with the Mexican.

“Good night, Victor. I’m sure everything
will be all rightby midday tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” replied the Mexican, “for your
sake.” He strolled out of the foyer whistling.

Sir Hamish, a glass of water in his hand,
was still seated at the dinner table when his project manager returned.

“I do not believe it is possible that that-
that that man can represent the Secretary of State, represent a government
mmlster.”

“I am assured that he does,” replied David
Heath.

“But to part with nearly four million
dollars to such an individual...”

“I agree with you, sir, but that is the way
business is conducted out here.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Sir Hamish. “I
won’t believe it. I want you to make an appointment for me to see the minister
first thing tomorrow morning.”

“He won’t like that, sir. It might expose
his position, and put him right out in the open in a way that could only
embarrass him.”

“I don’t give a damn about embarrassing him.
We are discussing a bribe, do I have to spell it out for you, Heath? A bribe of
nearly four million dollars. Have you no principles, man?”

“Yes, sir, but I would still advise you
against seeing the Secretary of State. He won’t want any of your conversation
with Mr. Perez on the record.”

“I have run this company my way for nearly
thirty years, Mr. Heath, and I shall be the judge of what I want on the
record.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“I will see the Secretary of State first
thing in the morning. Kindly arrange a meeting.”

“If you insist, sir,” said David Heath
resignedly.

A Matter of Princzpk “I insist.”

The project manager departed to his own room
and a sleepless night. Early the next morning he delivered a hand-written,
personal and private letter to the minister, who sent a car round immediately
for the Scottish industrialist.

Sir Hamish was driven slowly through the
noisy, exuberant, bustling crowds of the city in the minister’s black Ford
Galaxy with nag flying. People made way for the car respectfully. The chauffeur
came to a halt outside the Ministry of Buildings and Public Works in Paseo de
la Reforma and guided Sir Hamish through the long, white corridors to a waiting
room. A few minutes later an assistant showed Sir Hamish through to the Secretary
of State and took a seat by his side. The minister, a severe looking man who
appeared to be well into his seventies, was dressed in an immaculate white suit,
white shirt and blue tie. He rose, leaned over the vast expanse of green
leather and offered his hand.

“Do have a seat, Sir Hamish.”

“Thank you,” the chairman said, feeling more
at home as he took in the minister’s office; on the ceiling a large
propellor-like fan revolved slowly round making little difference to the
stuffiness of the room, while hanging on the wall behind the minister was a
signed picture of President Jose Lopez Portillo, in full morning dress and
below the photo a plaque displaying a coat of arms.

“I see you were educated at Cambridge.”

“That is correct, Sir Hamish, I was up at
Corpus Christi College for three years.”

“Then you know my country well, sir.”

“I do have many happy memories of my stays
in England, Sir Hamish; in fact, I still visit London as often as my leave
allows.”

“You must take a trip to Edinburgh some
time.”

“I have already done so, Sir Hamish.

I attended the Festival on two occasions and
now know why your city is described as the Athens of the north.”

“You are well informed, Minister.”

“Thank you, Sir Hamish. Now I must ask how I
can help you. Your assistant’s note was rather vague.”

“First let me say, Minister, that my company
is honoured to be considered for the city ring road project and I hope that our
experience of thirty years in construction, twenty of them in the third world”
– he nearly said the undeveloped countries, an expression his project manager
had warned him against- “is the reason you, as Minister in charge, found us the
natural choice for this contract.”

“That, and your reputation for finishing a
job on time at the stipulated price,” replied the Secretary of State. “Only
twice in your history have you returned to the principal asking for changes in
the payment schedule. Once in Uganda when you were held up by Amin’s pathetic
demands, and the other project, if I remember rightly, was in Bolivia, an
airport, when you were unavoidably delayed for six months because of an
earthquake. In both cases, you completed the contract at the new price
stipulated and my principal advisers think you must have lost money on both
occasions.” The Secretary of State mopped his brow with a silk handkerchief
before continuing. “I would not wish you to think my government takes these
decisions of selection lightly.”

Sir Hamish was astounded by the Secretary of
State’s command of his brief, the more so as no prompting notes lay on the
leather-topped desk in front of him. He suddenly felt guilty at the little he
knew about the Secretary of State’s background or history.

“Of course not, Minister. I am flattered by
your personal concern, which makes me all the more determined to broach an
embarrassing subject that has...”

“Before you say anything else, Sir Hamish,
may I ask you some questions?”

“Of course, Minister.”

“Do you still find the tender price of
$39,121,110 acceptable in all the circumstances?”

“Yes, Minister.”

“That amount still leaves you enough to do a
worthwhile job while making a profit for your company?”

“Yes, Minister, but...”

“Excellent, then I think all you have to
decide is whether you want to sign the contract by midday today.” The minister
emphasised the word midday as clearly as he could.

Sir Hamish, who had never understood the
expression “a nod is as good as a wink”, charged foolishly on.

“There is, nevertheless, one aspect of the
contract I feel that I should discuss with you privately.”

- “Are you sure that would be wise, Sir
Hamish?”

Sir Hamish hesitated, but only for a moment,
before proceeding. Had David Heath heard the conversation that had taken place
so far, he would have stood up, shaken hands with the Secretary of State, removed
the top of his fountain pen and headed towards the contract – but not his employer.

“Yes, Minister, I feel I must,” said Sir
Hamish firmly.

“Will you kindly leave us, Miss Vieites?”
said the Secretary of State.

The assistant closed her shorthand book,
rose and left the room. Sir Hamish waited for the door to close before he began
again.

“Yesterday I had a visit from a countryman
of yours, a Mr. Victor Perez, who resides here in Mexico City and claims - “

“An excellent man,” said the Minister very
quietly.

Still Sir Hamish charged on. “Yes, I daresay
he is, Minister, but he asked to be allowed to represent Graham Construction as
our agent and I wondered…”

“A common practice in Mexico, no more than
is required by the law.” said the Minister, swinging his chair round and
staring out of the window.

“Yes, I appreciate that is the custom,” said
Sir Hamish now talking to the minister’s back, “but if I am to part with ten
per cent of the government’s money I must be convinced that such a decision
meets with your personal approval.” Sir Hamish thought he had worded that
rather well.

“Um,” said the Secretary of State, measuring
his words, “Victor Perez is a good man and has always been loyal to the Mexican
cause. Perhaps he leaves an unfortunate impression sometimes, not out of what
you would call the ‘top drawer’, Sir Hamish, but then we have no class barriers
in Mexico.” The Minister swung back to face Sir Hamish.

The Scottish industrialist flushed.

“Of course not, Minister, but chat, if you
will forgive me, is hardly the point. Mr. Perez is asking me to hand over
nearly four million dollars, which is over half of my estimated profit on the
project without allowing for any contingencies or mishaps that might occur
later.”

“You chose the tender figure, Sir Hamish. I
confess I was amused by the fact you added your date of birth to the
thirty-nine million.”

Sir Hamish’s mouth opened wide.

“I would have thought,” continued the
minister, “given your record over the past three years and the present
situation in Britain, you were not in a position to be fussy.”

The minister gazed impassively at Sir
Hamish’s startled face. Both started to speak at the same time. Sir Hamish
swallowed his words.

“Allow me to tell you a little story about
Victor Perez. When the war was at its fiercest” (the old Secretary of State was
referring to the Mexican Revolution, in the same way that an American thinks of
Vietnam or a Briton of Germany when they hear the word “war”), “Victor’s father
was one of the young men under my command who died on the battlefield at Celaya
only a few days before victory was ours. He left a son born on the day of
independence who never knew his father. I have the honour, Sir Hamish, to be
godfather to that child. We christened him Victor.”

“I can understand that you have a
responsibility to an old comrade but I still feel four million is – “

“Do you? Then let me continue. Just before
Victor’s father died I visited him in a field hospital and he asked only that I
should take care of his wife. She died in childbirth. I therefore considered my
responsibility passed on to their only child.”

Sir Hamish remained silent for a moment. “I
appreciate your attitude, Minister, but ten per cent of one of your largest
contracts?”

“One day,” continued the Secretary of State,
as if he had not heard Sir Hamish’s comment, “Victor’s father was fighting in
the front line at Zacatecas and looking out across a minefield he saw a young
lieutenant, lying face down in the mud with his leg nearly blown off. With no
thought for his own safety, he crawled through that minefield until he reached
the lieutenant and then he dragged him yard by yard back to the camp. It took
him over three hours. He then carried the lieutenant to a truck and drove him
to the nearest field hospital, undoubtedly saving his leg, and probably his
life.

So you see the government have good cause to
allow Perez’s son the privilege of representing them from time to time.”

“I agree with you, Minister,” said Sir
Hamish quietly. “Quite admirable.”

The Secretary of State smiled for the first
tinge. “But I still confess I cannot understand why you allow him such a large
percentage.”