A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [110]
“Here is Santamaria Province, in the north of the country,” he began.
“I do know the geography of Cordova,” Edward said peevishly.
“Of course you do,” said Micky in a soothing voice. It was true. Pilasters Bank did a healthy volume of business with Cordova, financing its exports of nitrate, salt beef and silver and its imports of mining equipment, guns and luxury goods. Edward handled all that business, thanks to Micky, who as attache and then minister had made life difficult for anyone who did not want to use Pilasters Bank to finance their trade with his country. In consequence Edward was now seen as the leading London expert on Cordova. “Of course you do,” Micky repeated. “And you know that all the nitrate mined by my father has to be transported by mule train from Santamaria to Palma. But what you may not know is that it is perfectly possible to build a railroad along that route.”
“How can you be sure? A railroad is a complicated thing.”
Micky took a bound volume from his desk. “Because my father commissioned a survey by a Scottish engineer, Gordon Halfpenny. All the details are in here—including the costs. Take a look.”
“How much?” Edward said.
“Five hundred thousand pounds.”
Edward riffled through the pages of the report. “What about politics?”
Micky glanced up at the big portrait of President Garcia in the uniform of commander-in-chief. Every time Micky looked at the picture he vowed that one day his own portrait would occupy that spot on the wall. “The president favors the idea. He believes it will strengthen his military grip on the countryside.” Garcia trusted Papa. Ever since Papa had become governor of Santamaria Province—with the help of two thousand Westley-Richards short-barreled rifles made in Birmingham—the Miranda family had been the president’s fervent supporters and close allies. Garcia did not suspect Papa’s motive for wanting a railway to Palma: it would enable the Miranda family to attack the capital within two days instead of two weeks.
“How will it be paid for?” said Edward.
“We’ll raise the money on the London market,” Micky said airily. “In fact I thought Pilasters Bank might like to have the business.” He tried to breathe slowly and normally. This was the climax of his long and painstaking cultivation of the Pilaster family: this was to be his reward for years of preparation.
But Edward shook his head and said: “I don’t think so.”
Micky was astonished and dismayed. At worst he had thought Edward would agree to think about it. “But you raise money for railroads all the time—I thought you’d be pleased to have the opportunity!”
“Cordova isn’t the same as Canada or Russia,” Edward said. “Investors don’t like your political setup, with every provincial caudillo having his own personal army. It’s medieval.”
Micky had not thought of that. “You floated Papa’s silver mine.” That had happened three years ago, and had brought Papa a useful hundred thousand pounds.
“Exactly! It turned out to be the only silver mine in South America that struggles to make a profit.”
In truth the mine was very rich, but Papa was skimming the profits off the top and leaving nothing for the shareholders. If only he had left a little margin for the sake of respectability! But Papa never listened to such counsel.
Micky fought down a panicky feeling, but his emotions must have shown on his face, for Edward said worriedly: “I say, old boy, is it terribly important? You look upset.”
“To tell you the truth, it would mean quite a lot to my family,” Micky admitted. He felt that Edward must be able to raise this money if he really wanted to; it could not be impossible. “Surely, if a bank with the prestige of Pilasters were to back the project, people would conclude that Cordova must be a good place to invest.”
“There’s something in that,” Edward said. “If one of the partners put the idea up, and really wanted to push it through, it could probably be done. But I’m not a partner.”
Micky had underestimated the difficulty of raising half a million