A Quiver Full of Arrows Read online

  “Agreed,” said Sir Hamish, who paused for a moment and smiled to himself before saying: “Make it $39,121,110.”

  “Why that particular figure, sir?”

  “Sentimental reasons,” said Sir Hamish, without further explanation.

  David Heath left, pleased that he had convinced his boss to go ahead, but he feared it might in the end prove harder to overcome Sir Hamish’s principles than the entire Mexican government. Nevertheless he filled in the bottom line of the tender as instructed and then had the document signed by three directors including his chairman, as required by Mexican law. He sent the tender by special messenger to be delivered at the Ministry of Buildings in Paseo de la Reforma: when tendering for a contract for over thirty-nine million dollars, one does not send the document by first-class post.

  Several weeks passed before the Mexican Embassy in London contacted Sir Hamish, requesting that he travel to Mexico City for a meeting with Manuel Unichurtu, the minister concerned with the city’s ring road project. Sir Hamish remained skeptical, but David Heath was jubilant, because he had already learned through another source that Graham Construction was the only tender being seriously considered at that moment, although there were one or two outstanding items still to be agreed on. David Heath knew exactly what that meant.

  A week later Sir Hamish, traveling first class, and David Heath, traveling economy, flew out of Heathrow bound for Mexico’s international airport. On arrival they took an hour to clear customs and another thirty minutes to find a taxi to take them to the city, and then only after the driver had bargained with them for an outrageous fare. They covered the fifteen-mile journey from the airport to their hotel in just over an hour and Sir Hamish was able to observe at first hand why the Mexicans were so desperate to build a ring road. Even with the windows down, the ten-year-old car was like an oven that had been left on high all night, but during the journey Sir Hamish never once loosened his collar or tie. The two men checked into their rooms, phoned the minister’s secretary to inform her of their arrival, and then waited.

  For two days, nothing happened.

  David Heath assured his chairman that such a hold-up was not an unusual course of events in Mexico, as the minister was undoubtedly in meetings most of the day, and after all wasn’t “mañana” the one Spanish word every foreigner understood?

  On the afternoon of the third day, only just before Sir Hamish was threatening to return home, David Heath received a call from the minister’s man, who accepted an invitation to join them both for dinner in Sir Hamish’s suite that evening.

  Sir Hamish put on evening dress for the occasion, despite David Heath’s counseling against the idea. He even had a bottle of Fina La Ina sherry sent up in case the minister’s man required some refreshment. The dinner table was set and the hosts were ready for seven-thirty. The minister’s man did not appear at seven-thirty, or seven forty-five, or eight o’clock or eight-fifteen, or eight-thirty. At eight forty-nine there was a loud rap on the door, and Sir Hamish muttered an inaudible reproach as David Heath went to open it and find his contact standing there.

  “Good evening, Mr. Heath, I’m sorry to be late. Held up with the minister, you understand.”

  “Yes, of course,” said David Heath. “How good of you to come, Señor Perez. May I introduce my chairman, Sir Hamish Graham?”

  “How do you do, Sir Hamish? Victor Perez at your service.”

  Sir Hamish was dumbfounded. He simply stood and stared at the little middle-aged Mexican who had arrived for dinner dressed in a grubby white T-shirt and Western jeans. Perez looked as if he hadn’t shaved for three days and reminded Sir Hamish of those bandits he had seen in B-movies when he was a schoolboy. He wore a heavy gold bracelet around his wrist that could have come from Cartier’s and a tiger’s tooth on a platinum chain around his neck that looked as if it had come from Woolworth’s. Perez grinned from ear to ear, pleased with the effect he was having on the chairman of Graham Construction.

  “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 clean his fingers on the side of 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 Credit 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 both 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.

  “Goodnight, 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 won’