The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [195]
“Good evening,” replied Sir Hamish stiffly, taking a step backward. “Would you care for a sherry?”
“No, thank you, Sir Hamish. I’ve grown into the habit of liking your whiskey, on the rocks with a little soda.”
“I’m sorry, I only have—”
“Don’t worry, sir, I have some in my room,” said David Heath, and rushed away to retrieve a bottle of Johnnie Walker he had hidden under the shirts in his top drawer. Despite this Scottish aid, the conversation before dinner among the three men was somewhat stilted, but David Heath had not come five thousand miles for an inferior hotel meal with Victor Perez, and Victor Perez in any other circumstances would not have crossed the road to meet Sir Hamish Graham, even if he’d built it. Their conversation ranged from the recent visit to Mexico of Her Majesty the Queen—as Sir Hamish referred to her—to the proposed return trip of President Portillo to Britain. Dinner might have gone more smoothly if Mr. Perez hadn’t eaten most of the food with his hands and then proceeded to wipe his fingers on 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 toward 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 stiffly.
“Certainly,” said the little Mexican cheerfully. “I require ten percent of the agreed tender figure, five percent to be paid on the day you are awarded the contract and five percent 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 Crédit Suisse in Geneva within seven days of the National Bank of Mexico clearing your check.”
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 right—by 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 minister.”
“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