The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [58]
“If I telex that message, sir, you do realize that it’s legally binding?”
“Send it,” said Eduardo.
Eduardo returned once again to the dining room, where Manuel had ordered the finest bottle of champagne in the hotel. Just as they were calling for a second bottle, and singing a spirited version of Esta Cheganda a Hora, Eduardo’s private secretary appeared by his side again, this time with two telexes, one from the president of the Banco do Brasil and a second from his brother Carlos. Both wanted confirmation of the agreed partner for the Amazon road project. Eduardo uncorked the second bottle of champagne without looking up at his private secretary.
“Confirm Rodrigues International Construction to the president of the bank and my brother,” he said as he filled Manuel’s empty glass. “And don’t bother me again tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” said the private secretary and left without another word.
Neither man could recall what time he climbed into bed that night, but de Silveira was abruptly awakened from a deep sleep by his secretary early the next morning. Eduardo took a few minutes to digest the news. Lieutenant Colonel Dimka had been caught in Kano at three o’clock that morning, and all the airports were now open again. Eduardo picked up the phone and dialed three digits.
“Manuel, you’ve heard the news? Good. Then you must fly back with me in my 707 or it may be days before you get out. One hour’s time in the lobby. See you then.”
At 8:45 there was a quiet knock on the door, and Eduardo’s secretary opened it to find Colonel Usman standing to attention, just as he had done in the days before the coup. He held a note in his hand. Eduardo tore open the envelope to find an invitation to lunch that day with the new head of state, General Obasanjo.
“Please convey my apologies to your president,” said Eduardo, “and be kind enough to explain that I have pressing commitments to attend to in my own country.”
The colonel retired reluctantly. Eduardo dressed in the suit, shirt, and tie he had worn on his first day in Nigeria and took the lift downstairs to the lobby where he joined Manuel, who was once more wearing jeans and a T-shirt. The two chairmen left the hotel and climbed into the back of the leading Mercedes and the motorcade of six began its journey to the airport. The colonel, who now sat in front with the driver, did not venture to speak to either of the distinguished Brazilians for the entire journey. The two men, he would be able to tell the new president later, seemed to be preoccupied with a discussion on an Amazon road project and how the responsibility should be divided between their two companies.
Customs were bypassed as neither man had anything they wanted to take out of the country other than themselves, and the fleet of cars came to a halt at the side of Eduardo’s blue and silver 707. The staff of both companies climbed aboard the rear section of the aircraft, also engrossed in discussion on the Amazon road project.
A corporal jumped out of the lead car and opened the back door, to allow the two chairmen to walk straight up the steps and board the front section of the aircraft.
As Eduardo stepped out of the Mercedes, the Nigerian driver saluted smartly. “Good-bye, sir,” he said, revealing the large set of white teeth once again.
Eduardo said nothing.
“I hope,” said the corporal politely, “you made very big deal while you were in Nigeria.”
THE PERFECT MURDER
If I hadn’t changed my mind that night I would never have found out the truth.
I couldn’t believe that Carla had slept with another man, that she had lied about her love for me—and that I might be second or even third in her affections.
Carla had phoned me at the office during the day, something I had told her not to do, but since I also warned her never to call me at home she hadn’t been left with a lot of choice. As it turned out, all she had wanted to let me know was that she wouldn’t be able to make it for what the French so decorously call a cinq à sept. She had to visit her sister in Fulham who had