When the Singing Stops (45 page)

‘It will sure put a dent in some of the deals he was involved in,' said Connor.

‘Oh good,' added Madi. ‘Perhaps that will be the end of the casino.'

No one followed up on Madi's hopes that the casino project would finish with the killing. Then Connor suggested another angle. ‘Just suppose Bacchus had information, political and business names for example, of others involved in this drug scene. Blackmailing them would make him a prime target, don't you think? And how convenient for everyone to blame it on the Amerindians.'

Madi was aghast at the possible extent of the corruption, but at the same time she was convinced that the real threat to her life, and Connor's, was now removed. Bacchus must have been behind the attacks on them. Now that danger was gone. That at least was a relief, but even so she needed another stiff drink and helped herself at the bar.

‘One thing we can be sure of,' said Johns with the assurance that comes from a lot of experience in Third World countries like Guyana, ‘there will be some interesting ripple effects from tonight's little episode. Very interesting ripples.'

There was a jangle from the buzzer at the gate and Matthew leant over the balcony and looked down. ‘It's Lester and Xavier,' he shouted over his shoulder.

Everyone settled themselves in the living room as Kevin played the video he'd shot of the Amerindian dancers parading past the VIP
grandstand. Xavier leaned forward at the point where one of the dancers was lifting a blowpipe to his mouth. It was a relatively close shot and it lasted only a few seconds before Kevin had panned left and caught Bacchus clutching his throat. The camera had then panned back to the parade. Kevin rolled the tape back and froze the picture on the man with the blowpipe. Xavier shook his head. ‘I have no idea who that is. He's not one of our people, he looks the part but his face painting is not quite traditional. Who do you suppose is behind this?'

‘You mean you honestly don't know?' asked Connor.

Xavier shook his head. ‘So many people could have a motive to kill Bacchus, particularly after he was identified as the man who ordered the execution of Madi and Connor.'

‘That's what I said,' added Johns.

‘I'm cancelling the rally,' announced Xavier calmly. ‘Naturally, the police and media are going to make a lot out of this. We must be careful that racial inferences don't aggravate an already delicate situation. Our political enemies could gain much from blaming me for what has happened.'

‘Hey, look at this,' shouted Kevin, who had been forwarding through the video. He rewound a segment and stopped the tape. ‘Look who's standing at the side of the parade.'

‘Antonio Destra! Now what do you suppose he was doing there?' exclaimed Madi.

‘Possibly watching from the sidelines, like everyone else?' said Stewart Johns.

‘Damned odd,' observed Gordon Ash. ‘Who is this guy, apart from being a dealer in mining machinery?'

‘A wheeler-dealer of the old school. He's mixed up in everything, knows everyone, and, by local standards, squeaky clean from what I gather,' said Johns. ‘You know him, Xavier?'

‘Destra, as you say, knows everyone. He has given money to help Pieter Van Horen's research in the medicinal plants project. No one solicited him, he just came forward a few months ago and said he would quietly like to help. He wrote a cheque on the spot.'

There was a stony silence, everyone trying to understand how Antonio Destra could fit into the already complicated puzzle. More drinks were passed around.

‘He was up at New Spirit when Ernesto St Kitt was killed,' said Matthew in a low, neutral voice.

Madi's heart missed a beat. ‘I thought he was one of the crowd doing the hard drugs at New Spirit. But I figured I must have been mistaken. He seemed such a good family man.'

Everyone looked again at Xavier, expecting some illumination, but Xavier merely shrugged and raised his hands slightly in a gesture of despair.

While the men discussed the situation a while longer, Madi made coffee and tried to sort
out her confused feelings. She went back to the balcony and sat in a cane chair looking up into the tropical night sky as if the answers might be written in the stars.

There was a sense of relief that a serious threat to the future of Guyana had been removed. But tempering this relief was a disturbing feeling that if she decided to fight for what she believed was right here, there would be new enemies and new threats to her life.

Lester wandered out with a beer and squatted beside her. ‘Yo not lookin' too happy, Miz Madison. Should be, yo is safe now. Tings is lookin' good.'

Madi looked at him affectionately. ‘Do you really believe that, Lester, truly?'

‘We wait an see, eh? See what de day bring tomorrow, or next day,' advised Lester.

Inside the house Johns poured himself another whisky, then he walked out onto the balcony, nodded to Madi and Lester, and strolled to the far end. He stood looking at the sky, as if he too were seeking answers. But he already had one.

Can't figure why it took me so long to tumble to it, thought Johns as he sipped the drink. Must be getting old, mind slowing down. Bloody CIA, that's who Destra's working for. Bloody CIA. Has to be. It's a perfect front for an in-country agent. Still, no need to broadcast it around. The final act of this little drama hasn't yet been played, that's for sure. What's more, I'm
bloody sure Xavier knows it too. Whose side is Destra on, or is he playing the field? Interesting, he mused, very interesting. Gives life a bit of an edge to get mixed up with that lot, always interesting in these sorts of countries.

T
he funeral of the banker Rashid Bacchus attracted a huge number of Georgetown's Indian population. However, outside his vast network of family, his business associations attracted more than enough people to give his passing the dignity a man of his position and wealth would normally command. But many of those professing great sorrow did so with little genuine regret. It was important to be seen at the funeral, it was important to say the right things, it was important not to do anything that might fracture the flimsy facade of decency.

After all, when someone like Bacchus went down, there was no saying what the repercussions might be.

Inspector Palmer of the Georgetown police
attended the Bacchus funeral, partly in the line of duty, partly out of personal obligation. He would never admit it, but he was relieved at the demise of this man. While Bacchus' death had generated a search for the killer, it also removed the need for an investigation into claims that were certain to upset a lot of powerful people connected to the banker.

Odd, he thought as he nodded to acknowledge greetings from other mourners, that the Australian woman, Madison Wright, was linked to yet another dead man. Bacchus was dead so there would be no point in interviewing her now about her allegations that he was connected with drug trafficking—a story that had been discreetly circulating in high quarters. He amused himself by contemplating whether many Australian women had this penchant for being associated with bodies and violence, and the possible reason for such an unfortunate trait.

The object of Inspector Palmer's thoughts was at that moment being ushered into the office of Xavier Rodrigues at the Amerindian hostel.

Seated with Xavier was Pieter Van Horen and both rose to greet her enthusiastically.

Pieter gave her a big hug, Xavier grasped her hand with both of his, shaking it warmly.

‘It's so good to see you again, Miss Wright, this time in more positive circumstances,' said
Xavier. ‘I was amazed that you had completed your tourism proposal so rapidly. Ah, if only the Guyanese had such a work ethic, what a place it would be. Don't you agree, Pieter?'

‘There is room for a little improvement,' replied Pieter with deliberate understatement, ‘but there first has to be an opportunity for change.'

‘True. That's what we're working towards, and making some unexpected progress, I might add,' responded Xavier, but he didn't elaborate. ‘You have the eco tourism paper for us to look at?'

Madi reached into a briefcase and pulled out half a dozen printed and bound copies of her proposal, along with a presentation folder of relevant photographs, and advertising and promotional concepts in draft form.

‘My brother, Matthew, was kind enough to let me pay the mine office printers to work overtime to help put it all together for you.'

Xavier flashed her a smile of appreciation and thumbed speedily through the text folder, pausing here and there to take in some of the facts and figures.

Then he cleared a space on his desk and spread the photographs and promotional material for each of them to examine.

‘These concepts are for a later stage, of course,' explained Madi. ‘First stage to be addressed is the targeting of specific locations and the setting up of the infrastructure needed.
It would require co-ordination with the airlines, an improved communications system, better accommodation and development of local cultural features. Where possible, I've included two to fourteen day package suggestions, using four-wheel drives, boats and hiking to give a full experience. It's very much aimed to appeal to the more adventurous holidaymaker. If you can entice tourists over from the Caribbean and from the United States for a more exciting nature-lovers' vacation in an unspoiled and unique corner of the world, then the Guyanese ecotourism industry should prosper.'

‘Most impressive. Very fine work,' said Xavier, looking at the supporting papers with a keen eye.

She ran through the specifics dealing with each tourist location separately, and then sat back. Pieter held out his great paw of a hand. ‘Congratulations. It's exactly what should be done here.'

Xavier nodded. ‘I agree. This is a first-class concept. But there remain a few other parties to be convinced and funds to be found—and there are always more pressing needs. And it will be some time, because of the small number of tourists involved, before it makes significant money.'

‘You're sounding like a politician,' said Madi with a tight smile, a little deflated by his reservations, practical though they might be.

Xavier hastened to be reassuring. ‘The
politicians are the people we have to convince. With your permission, I will present it at a forum of government officials and our people which is being planned to take place at New Spirit.'

Madi shrugged. ‘It's yours. My gift to Guyana. I hope next time I come back, I can book into one of these successfully operating eco tours.'

‘You're leaving?'

‘I'm not sure what I'm doing at the moment. The experience I had upriver with Connor was most distressing, and the murder of Bacchus hasn't made the situation any less alarming.'

Xavier began collecting the papers on his desk to put back in the folders. ‘Such events impact on all of us more than you think, Madison, devastating as they were for you. They are all an essential part of the emerging big picture of changing Guyana. Drug running represents part of the contemporary power play. Distasteful as it is, we have to determine how deep crime and corruption is embedded here, and work out what to do about it. No one willingly wants to abdicate positions of power. The fight to hold onto it can become very tough, very dirty. Those of us who hold other values must be ready to adapt our tactics as the situation changes.'

Madi was puzzled. She had never heard Xavier talk like this. He had seemed the perfect example of a new age indigenous politician. But here he was hinting at what?

Xavier stood and moved from his desk to stand beside her.

‘Whatever happens, Madison, remember this. You know what is special about the ground beneath me? I am allowed to stand here because I choose to be here. No person, no government can say to me: You are not allowed to be in this place, you cannot live here, you have no right to be here. This is our country, we are not slaves, it is our land and we are fighting for the right to be part of the decision-making process that determines how we live
our
lives in
our
country. Whether we be Amerindian or descendants of slaves or accidents of colonial rape. I want our Guyanese children to have the right to live in a harmonious, sustainable and beautiful country. That's what I'm fighting for, and I'll use whatever means I have to achieve it.'

Madi was greatly moved by Xavier's words. All her doubts about him disappeared and she once again felt a surging confidence that this man might one day lead his people, perhaps the nation, to a better future. ‘I'm sure your dreams will come true, Xavier.'

‘We must always hang on to our dreams, even if sometimes they become a little nightmarish.' He gave a laugh. ‘Enough of this. Thanks again for your paper. I will study it closely and will keep in touch. You won't leave without letting me know, will you?'

‘Of course not.'

Pieter walked Madi to Lester's cab. ‘By the way, thanks for putting in such a good word with Connor about our work. He called me this morning to say his company's head office was interested in principle about doing something—whatever that means—to help us. But it sounds promising.'

Madi was delighted. ‘That's great news, Pieter. I'll give him an extra kiss when I see him tonight.'

She was about to get in the taxi when someone loudly called her name from across the compound. It was Lady Annabel, pottering around the doorway of the Amerindian artefacts shop. Madi gave Pieter a quick kiss on his bushy cheek. ‘See you later, no doubt. Have to join Lady Annabel over at the shop.'

Pieter watched as she strode across the compound to embrace Lady Annabel. He slowly shook his head as he turned to walk back inside to resume talks with Xavier about strategies for the important meeting coming up at New Spirit. He was feeling a little sad for he knew that before long the idealistic young woman he admired so much was going to have some of that idealism sorely tested.

Lady Annabel linked her arm through Madi's. ‘Dear girl, come and help me choose. Colonel Bede wants a painting and there are several just in, wonderful work from interior artists.
They're not all traditional Amerindian style but they capture the place, don't you think?'

Madi walked slowly past the poorly framed paintings hung on the shop wall. Memories came flooding back as she looked at the paintings of savannah country, Kaieteur Falls, Amerindian village scenes and primitive-style Amerindian symbols and animals.

Lady Annabel chose a large painting of Kaieteur Falls. ‘With a better frame, something large and gold, it will suit Bede's office, don't you think? Lester, would you mind lifting it down.'

Lester carried the picture to the counter as Madi remarked, ‘I didn't think the colonel ever went to his office at the old house?'

‘He says he has high expectations of being more involved now he's been asked to host some conference of national consequence. Can't imagine how. He talks about the country going straight, once the dust has settled over the demise of the unfortunate Mr Bacchus.' She gave a hearty laugh. ‘Well, straighter.'

A painting at the far end of the gallery, half hidden by a stand of postcards, caught Madi's eye. She went closer and smiled when she was able to take in the detail of the work. It was a pretty little oil of a lush green plant touched by sunrays which glistened on drops of water. And if you looked closely, you could see the tiny gold frog crouched between the long waxy fronds. Without a word Madi reached up and lifted it
from the wall and turned to find a smiling Lester. ‘Ah reckon dat artist must have had yo in mind when he do dat one.'

She held the picture at arm's length and looked at it again. ‘Ah reckon dey sure did, Lester. Ah reckon dat right, man.'

Lester drove them back to Lady Annabel's flat where he waited while the two women had what they promised would be ‘a quick coffee'. It was hot enough for him to decide to stretch out on the back seat for a midday snooze.

‘What did you make of the death of Mr Bacchus?' asked Madi, without displaying any emotional connection with the event. ‘We were quite close to the stand when it happened.'

‘Make of it? Goodness, my dear, one could make a great deal of it, if one had real evidence and not just coffee shop gossip and rumour. He was a big player with a finger in this country's honey pot. I've always thought that the ideal way to operate in Guyana would be to have a bank behind you. All that money, even if It's not yours, says one thing—power. And that means you can get things done, get more power. Oh, It's a ruthless game, Madison, and getting more so every day. Everywhere in the world. It was all far more dignified—no more honest, I daresay—but more dignified in our day on the diplomatic circuit.'

Coffee was poured and, after the maid had left, Madi raised the subject that had been puzzling her ever since the Bacchus murder. ‘You know Antonio Destra, of course?'

‘Oh yes,' she laughed. ‘The puppetmaster.'

The what?'

‘The puppetmaster, my dear. One who pulls the strings behind the scenes, and watches everyone jump around to his command.'

‘I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you're suggesting.'

Lady Annabel looked at her in mock dismay. ‘Really, Madison, where have you been all your life? The Agency, girl, the Agency.'

Madi looked blank.

‘Goodness, do I have to spell it out . . . C-I-A. Now do you understand?'

For a moment, Madi was speechless. ‘How do you know?' She spoke almost in a whisper as if there might be a spy behind the curtains.

‘Well, one doesn't, does one? You have to put two and two together and get five to figure out how the CIA operates in countries like this. But, my dear Madison, I'll wager London Bridge that I'm right. He has fingers and eyes everywhere, always doing favours, and no doubt calling them in when he needs the leverage.' She sipped her coffee. ‘Now, Madi, tell me all about your trip to the Rupunini. Swimming with otters was all the vogue I hear.'

Madi could hardly wait for Connor to get home for dinner. She stood on the verandah with drinks ready, quickly adding the ice when his car arrived at the gate.

Her welcome home kiss was more passionate than usual, which made Connor cock his head to one side and ask, ‘Well, what did I do to deserve that bonus?'

‘It's a little thank you for so promptly putting together a submission to the IFO on the plant medicine project. I saw Pieter today and he told me that you phoned him.' She kissed him again lightly on the cheek. ‘But guess what I've heard?' He shook his head. ‘Antonio Destra works for the CIA.'