A Quiver Full of Arrows Read online

  Eduardo’s next appointment was an unavoidable courtesy call on the Brazilian Ambassador for lunch. He hated such functions, for he believed embassies to be fit only for cocktail parties and discussion of out-of-date trivia, neither of which he cared for. The food in such establishments was invariably bad and the company worse. It turned out to be no different on this occasion and the only profit (Eduardo considered everything in terms of profit and loss) to be derived from the encounter was the information that Manuel Rodriguez was on a short list of three for the building of the new port in Lagos and was expecting to have an audience with the President on Friday if he was awarded the contract. By Thursday morning that will be a short list of two and there will be no meeting with the President, de Silveira promised himself, and decided that that was the most he was likely to gain from the lunch—until the Ambassador added:

  “Rodriguez seems most keen on seeing you awarded the new city contract at Abuja. He’s singing your praises to every minister he meets. Funny,” the Ambassador continued, “I always thought you two didn’t see eye to eye.”

  Eduardo made no reply as he tried to fathom what trick Rodriguez could be up to by promoting his cause.

  Eduardo spent the afternoon with the Minister of Finance and confirmed the provisional arrangements he had made with the Governor of the bank. The Minister of Finance had been forewarned by the Governor what he was to expect from an encounter with Eduardo de Silveira and that he was not to be taken aback by the Brazilian’s curt demands. De Silveira, aware that this warning would have taken place, let the poor man bargain a little and even gave way on a few minor points that he would be able to tell the President about at the next meeting of the Supreme Military Council. Eduardo left the smiling minister believing that he had scored a point or two against the formidable South American.

  That evening, Eduardo dined privately with his senior advisers, who themselves were already dealing with the ministers’ officials. Each was now coming up with daily reports about the problems that would have to be faced if they worked in Nigeria. His chief engineer was quick to emphasize that skilled labor could not be hired at any price, because the Germans had already cornered the market for their extensive road projects. The financial advisers also presented a gloomy report, of international companies waiting six months or more for their checks to be cleared by the central bank. Eduardo made notes on the views they expressed but never ventured an opinion himself. His staff left him a little after eleven and he decided to take a stroll around the hotel grounds before retiring to bed. On his walk through the luxuriant tropical gardens he only just avoided a face-to-face confrontation with Manuel Rodriguez by darting behind a large Iroko plant. The little man passed by champing away at his gum, oblivious to Eduardo’s baleful glare. Eduardo informed a chattering gray parrot of his most secret thoughts: By Thursday afternoon, Rodriguez, you will be on your way back to Brazil with a suitcase full of plans that can be filed under “abortive projects.” The parrot cocked its head and screeched at Eduardo as if it had been let in on his secret. Eduardo allowed himself a smile and returned to his room.

  Colonel Usman arrived on the dot of eight forty-five again the next day and Eduardo spent the morning with the Minister of Supplies and Cooperatives—or lack of them, as he commented afterward to his private secretary. The afternoon was spent with the Minister of Labor checking over the availability of unskilled workers and the total lack of skilled operatives. Eduardo was fast reaching the conclusion that despite the professed optimism of the ministers concerned, this was going to be the toughest contract he had ever tackled. There was more to be lost than money if the whole international business world stood watching him fall flat on his face. In the evening his staff reported to him once again, having solved a few old problems and unearthed some new ones. Tentatively, they had come to the conclusion that if the present regime stayed in power, there need be no serious concern over payment, as the President had earmarked the new city as a priority project. They had even heard a rumor that the army would be willing to lend-lease part of the Service Corps if there turned out to be a shortage of skilled labor. Eduardo made a note to have this point confirmed in writing by the Head of State during their final meeting the next day. But the labor problem was not what was occupying Eduardo’s thoughts as he put on his silk pajamas that night. He was chuckling at the idea of Manuel Rodriguez’s imminent and sudden departure for Brazil. Eduardo slept well.

  He rose with renewed vigor the next morning, showered and put on a fresh suit. The four days were turning out to be well worth while and a single stone might yet kill two birds. By eight forty-five he was waiting impatiently for the previously punctual colonel. The colonel did not show up at eight forty-five and had still not appeared when the clock on his mantelpiece struck nine. De Silveira sent his private secretary off to find out where he was and paced angrily backward and forward through the hotel suite. His secretary returned a few minutes later in a state of panic with the information that the hotel was surrounded by armed guards. Eduardo did not panic. He had been through eight coups in his life from which he had learned one golden rule: The new regime never kills visiting foreigners, because it needs their money every bit as much as the last government. Eduardo picked up the telephone, but no one answered so he switched on the radio. A tape recording was playing:

  “This is Radio Nigeria, this is Radio Nigeria. There has been a coup. General Mohammed has been overthrown and Lieutenant Colonel Dimka has assumed leadership of the new revolutionary government. Do not be afraid; remain at home and everything will be back to normal in a few hours. This is Radio Nigeria, this is Radio Nigeria. There has been a…”

  Eduardo switched off the radio as two thoughts flashed through his mind. Coups always held up everything and caused chaos, so undoubtedly he had wasted the four days. But worse, would it now be possible for him even to get out of Nigeria and carry on his normal business with the rest of the world?

  By lunchtime the radio was playing martial music interspersed with the tape-recorded message he soon learned by heart. Eduardo detailed all his staff to find out anything they could and to report back to him direct. They all returned with the same story: that it was impossible to get past the soldiers surrounding the hotel, so no new information could be unearthed. Eduardo swore for the first time in months. To add to his inconvenience, the hotel manager rang through to say that regretfully Mr. de Silveira would have to eat in the main dining room as there would be no room service until further notice. Eduardo went down to the dining room somewhat reluctantly, only to discover that the headwaiter showed no interest in who he was and placed him unceremoniously at a small table already occupied by three Italians. Manuel Rodriguez was seated only two tables away: Eduardo stiffened at the thought of the other man enjoying his discomfiture and then remembered it was that morning he was supposed to have seen the Minister of Ports. He ate his meal quickly despite being served slowly and when the Italians tried to make conversation with him he waved them away with his hand, feigning lack of understanding, despite the fact that he spoke their language fluently. As soon as he had finished the second course he returned to his room. His staff had only gossip to pass on and they had been unable to make contact with the Brazilian Embassy to lodge an official protest. “A lot of good an official protest will do us,” said Eduardo, slumping down in his chair. “Who do you send it to, the new regime or the old one?”

  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 as 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 ne