The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [53]
He sat alone in his room for the rest of the day, interrupted only by what he thought was the sound of gunfire in the distance. He read the New Federal Capital project proposal and his advisers’ reports for a third time.
The next morning Eduardo, dressed in the same suit he had worn on the day of his arrival, was greeted by his secretary with the news that the coup had been crushed; after fierce street fighting, he informed his unusually attentive chairman, the old regime had regained power but not without losses; among those killed in the uprising had been General Mohammed, the head of state. The secretary’s news was officially confirmed on Radio Nigeria later that morning. The ringleader of the abortive coup had been one Lieutenant Colonel Dimka: Dimka, along with one or two junior officers, had escaped, and the government had ordered a dusk-to-dawn curfew until the evil criminals were apprehended.
Pull off a coup and you’re a national hero; fail and you’re an evil criminal. In business it’s the same difference between bankruptcy and making a fortune, considered Eduardo as he listened to the news report. He was beginning to form plans in his mind for an early departure from Nigeria when the newscaster made an announcement that chilled him to the very marrow.
“While Lieutenant Colonel Dimka and his accomplices remain on the run, airports throughout the country will be closed until further notice.”
When the newscaster had finished his report, martial music was played in memory of the late General Mohammed.
Eduardo went downstairs in a flaming temper. The hotel was still surrounded by armed guards. He stared at the fleet of six empty Mercedeses, which was parked only ten yards beyond the soldiers’ rifles. He marched back into the foyer, irritated by the babble of different tongues coming at him from every direction. Eduardo looked around him: It was obvious that many people had been stranded in the hotel overnight and had ended up sleeping in the lounge or the bar. He checked the paperback rack in the lobby for something to read, but there were only four copies left of a tourist guide to Lagos; everything had been sold. Authors who had not been read for years were now changing hands at a premium. Eduardo returned to his room, which was fast assuming the character of a prison, and balked at reading the New Federal Capital project for a fourth time. He tried again to make contact with the Brazilian ambassador to discover if he could obtain special permission to leave the country as he had his own aircraft. No one answered the embassy phone. He went down for an early lunch only to find the dining room was once again packed to capacity. Eduardo was placed at a table with some Germans who were worrying about a contract that had been signed by the government the previous week, before the aborted coup. They were wondering if it would still be honored. Manuel Rodrigues entered the room a few minutes later and was placed at the next table.
During the afternoon, de Silveira ruefully examined his schedule for the next seven days. He had been due in Paris that morning to see the minister of the interior, and from there should have flown on to London to confer with the chairman of the Steel Board. His calendar was fully booked for the next ninety-two days until his family vacation in May.