Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 01 (10 page)

Chapter 20

Bobby was still not in his room when Leo returned to the hotel. He would have liked to have the paperwork transferring the stock completed before they flew to Kasane, but it could wait. Patience was the one virtue that had sustained him over the years, and he would not press. He’d discovered in his years of running a company as complex as Earth Global that delay worked to his advantage more often than urgent action. His grandmother used to say things had a way of working out. For her it was an excuse to do nothing. For Leo, the axiom meant wait until the time was right, until all the other players had tipped their hand, until he knew beyond any doubt that he possessed a real chance for success, then act.

He called Sheridan Baker. It would be late, but he paid him a great deal of money for his services, and he assumed Baker would be there for him. Leo had him repeat what he’d told him about his son’s condition. He needed to be sure.

“You’re positive about the power of attorney? This Cavanaugh guy can execute business transactions on my son’s behalf? If I wire money to him, he can pay the boy’s bills, write checks, any kind of decision about expenditures and so on, all that?”

“Yes, sir, he can.”

“Good, here’s what I want you to do.”

Leo laid out a series of steps he wished Baker to take, papers he wished to be drafted, signed, and next-day mailed to his private box in Chicago with copies faxed directly to him, and finally an admonishment that absolute secrecy cover the whole business.

He sat back. He felt better. He called room service and asked for a pot of coffee and some pastry to be brought to his room. He then called for valet service to come and help pack his bags. He smiled for the first time in weeks. He could enjoy that cigar now.

***

The Gulfstream V seemed empty with the reduced passenger load. The engineers and technical staff had all been sent home to Chicago, Denver, or Phoenix to prepare reports about what they’d learned and recommendations they might suggest if and when Earth Global determined it needed or could offer a presence in the country. The group traveling north to Kasane consisted of Rose Hayward, one of the engineers, Travis Parizzi, the Griswolds, Leo, and Henry Farrah.

Leo let his gaze roam over them all. Brenda had made a point of sitting away from her husband and was seemingly rapt in a fashion magazine. It was French, and he doubted she could read it, but then her only interest would be in the pictures. Bobby dozed in his seat, looking a little worse for wear. Farrah seemed nervous. He should be. Leo insisted he remain in the party, primarily to make it difficult for him to stay in contact with his coconspirators. As long as Leo kept him under his thumb, his actions were limited. Time enough to drop the hammer later. Let him squirm. Travis stood and worked his way forward to take a seat opposite Leo.

“Leo, what happened to that consultant you hired…what’s his name, Greshenko?”

He knew the name very well. Leo waited for what came next.

“I don’t mean to tell you how to run your business, but—”

“Travis, you understand I pay you a great deal of money as my chief operating officer precisely because I want you to tell me how to run my business. What is it you’re bursting to tell me?”

“Greshenko, did you know that he’s Russian mafia?”

“I hope you didn’t spend a lot of money to obtain that information.” Leo was sure that he had. “I could have told you, if you had asked.” The lines around Travis’ eyes tightened marginally. Good, Leo thought, he realizes he’s been trumped. There is still some hope to salvage this guy. “Why is that a problem?”

“Sir, it seems odd. Well, what can he be doing? I mean he’s a crook.”

“Ah, you are worried our reputation might be compromised if we are seen cavorting with alleged criminals?”

“Something like that, and I’m not sure alleged quite covers it.”

“Travis, something like one third of the companies and CEOs we’ve dealt with in the past twenty years have been investigated or indicted by grand juries and a few even convicted of felonious behavior involving various borderline practices, insider trading, and outright consumer fraud. And that’s not counting the misdemeanors and back door deals with regulators. Do you really think having a Russian with a wonky past temporarily on our payroll will remarkably change our public image?”

“Sir, I—”

“Rose Hayward is back there yakking to the stringers from all the press news services about all the wonderful things we might do for Botswana. Most of the public remembers what happens to them when there is an energy crisis, when the price per barrel of crude skyrocketed, and assumes we are robbing them blind and ought to be put in jail no matter what we do now or who we have on our payroll. They see us as predators, no, make that scavengers, hell, either or both will do. It depends on whether we’re tearing up new land or reworking the old.”

“I see but—”

“They may be right, by the way. We do make a lot of money exploiting resources we had no hand in creating. They think if it’s in the ground or comes from the Almighty and they ought not to have to pay through the nose to acquire their fair share. You have a problem with that line of thought?”

Travis started to reply and then must have thought better of it. He nodded. Leo couldn’t be sure if he nodded because he agreed with the line of thought, with his overarching assessment, or just to be polite. It didn’t matter.

“He’d know about ActiVox, of course. We could say something about that.”

“We could. Very shrewd, but that’s not why I brought him along. That process has departed this country and is buried deep in the Russian bureaucracy for the time being. There are problems in the economy, difficulties in distribution, and so on, and the Russians have taken it home for now.” He shifted in his seat. “Enough about our Russian employee. As my COO, give me your thoughts on our move to acquire or license ActiVox. It is the scavenging end of the business, you see.”

Travis scratched his chin and frowned. Leo studied his face for a sign. Oh, please, do not turn out to be a weasel, talk to me.

“I gather you think there is money to be made in some of the depleted mines we operate.”

“Possibly, yes.”

“It would be an undertaking with low profit margin.”

“And the problem with that is…?”

“We normally work on a minimum of 15 percent net return on investment. This would be more like five, maybe less. The demand is not there, as you just noted. The bones may be picked clean.”

“I grew up in the world that believed in two simple maxims, Travis. First, there is no such thing as a free lunch, and second, you’ll never go broke taking a profit. Fifteen or five, money is money.”

“Yes, surely. But if we were to put the funds we’d commit to the mines to some other venture, one with a better return, wouldn’t it make sense to follow that?”

“It would, except for one thing you haven’t thought of.”

“And that would be?”

“The miners, the employees we have, the subs, the suppliers, and the whole array of resources we use to make money from those mines. If we shut them down and go haring off after some short-term cash-out, when it comes time to reopen the mines, the whole infrastructure will be gone. We’d have to rebuild it. That will cost. But if we continue to operate at some level, then when the demand for minerals returns, and it will, we will be ahead of our competition. It is not part of the corporate ethic anymore, but I still would like to think we owe the people who provide us with large profits in the good times a chance to stay above water in the bad. Especially if we can make some money when we do.”

“I never figured you for a sense of altruism, sir. You’re worried about the miners and their families? That comes as a surprise.”

“I see. You might just find I am full of surprises.” Leo shrugged, graced Travis with a crooked smile, and continued. “And then, don’t forget there’s the real estate involved with the mining operations. I want to keep our options open on the lands whether we eventually close the mining operation down or not. Now, go back to your seat and think about what we just talked about. When we get to Kasane, we will talk again and discuss where you fit into the big picture.”

If Travis felt a twinge of panic at this last remark, Leo thought he hid it well. He leaned forward and retrieved a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. Touching the tip of a pencil to his tongue he began totting up a column of figures. Travis took the hint and took a seat further back in the plane. Leo was enjoying himself.

Chapter 21

Brenda tried to catch Travis’ eye as he made his way aft. He nodded toward her snoring husband and shook his head. Once again he wondered what he’d gotten himself into by taking on Brenda as an ally. And what was Leo trying to tell him? He’d hinted that he might know something, but did he? If he did, he had to have talked to someone and that could only have been one of the Griswolds. He doubted it was Bobby, not that the kid wouldn’t talk, but he didn’t think he had sufficient brain power to grasp the significance of what Brenda and he planned to do. Besides, everyone knew that he and Leo were anything but close, and he would likely have no objection to seeing the old man taken down. That left Brenda. Would she have gone to Leo figuring there might be a bigger payday working with the top dog? With Brenda, anything was possible. He’d need to find out somehow.

He realized he had a dilemma to resolve. As exciting as another physical liaison with Brenda might be, he really needed to maintain some distance. The thought of being in proximity to her for any but the briefest interval set off all the alarm bells in his survival system, a system that had served him well in the past. And it didn’t just involve the possibility of her husband finding out. No, women like Brenda were leeches. If they attached themselves to you and you weren’t careful, didn’t pull them off, they would bleed you dry. Still, there were worse ways to extract information. He pushed the image of a naked Brenda out of his mind. He’d deal with her later. At this moment, he had to assume that Leo might be on to him. He needed to shore up his position and make it unassailable. And that meant keeping Brenda and all the baggage she brought along.

He looked back at his boss, who seemed to be working out the arithmetic on a fresh sheet of paper. Like Leo, he had some adding up to do, as well. Griswold’s shares were firm. Whether Brenda could raise the money to redeem them or not would be immaterial. If she didn’t they were his. If she did and held them, he’d be sure she voted them his way. Either he’d have to keep the illusion of intimacy going until after the vote or persuade her she’d end up back on the street with nothing if she didn’t. In the end, it didn’t matter if she was loyal or trustworthy; Brenda would go along. Greedy people could be relied on in the short run. After that? So long, Brenda.

Added to Griswold’s, there were his shares acquired over the years through the company’s ESOP and the ones he’d bought subsequently from brokers eager to sell at a lower than market price as part of odd-lots. Then he had the proxies from board members he’d quietly picked up over the past months, and finally, the Reilly family shares. They would be the game breaker. Even if Brenda couldn’t control her husband and bolted, he’d have what he needed. It would be close, razor thin, but he could still make it happen. Nothing Leo could do could stop it. He sat back in the leather captain’s seat and relaxed. Done deal. What had Leo said?
Meet again and discuss where I fit into the big picture.
I think the reverse is what you need to be thinking about, old man. He signaled to the flight attendant and asked for scotch-rocks. He hoped Leo noticed.

***

The gray monkey had been moving about the area for several hours. He’d tried begging for hand-outs near the lodge restaurant and attempted a grab-and-run from a table of late breakfasters. He’d been chased off by a cook wielding a meat cleaver. He’d swung over to the Sedudu Bar to see if any chips or a part of a sandwich had been left on a table from the night before. Even a half-filled bottle of beer would have been a welcome treat. He knew from past experience that his chances of finding one or the other were reasonably good. Today, however, he would be disappointed. He paused and surveyed the area, then scampered westward past the empty campground toward a stand of trees that hung over the river bank. Skimmers regularly visited the area. There might be a new bird’s nest up there, and he could steal eggs or hatchlings. He was halfway up a vine when the corner of his eye registered the image of the lion. The resultant rush of adrenalin rocketed him into the tree’s upper limbs and safety.

He hid behind a leafy frond and studied the big cat. He knew that if he had missed seeing it and wandered too close, he would have been that animal’s next meal. Cats ate his kind. Some hunted them. The leopard could follow him into the tree if it chose. This cat, he knew was not a climber. A younger lion might try but probably would not.

The lion did not move. He broke off a dry branch and dropped it, hitting the lion on its side. Nothing. No movement, not so much as a twitch. He dropped another, larger stick. Still nothing. Curiosity has killed many more monkeys than it has proverbial cats. The monkey cautiously worked his way downward. When he found a limb about a meter above the lion, he positioned himself on it, snapped a large branch from the tree, and poked the lion in the ribs.

In one fluid, tawny, motion Sekoa cleared the ground, pirouetted, and swiped at the monkey, which escaped sure death from its claws by centimeters. Sekoa stood, and let out a terrifying rumble that seemed to rise from somewhere deep inside. It ended abruptly with a hacking cough. Blood dripped off his chin. He looked angrily at the monkey, who by then had managed to find a precarious perch in the topmost branches and sat chattering; all thoughts of eggs and hatchlings erased form his consciousness.

The lion dropped back to the ground and huffed his displeasure. He would liked to have pulled the monkey down from the tree. His hunger now caused him nearly as much pain as his diseased lungs. He licked the blood from his paws and stared off toward Sedudu Island and contemplated a herd of red lechwe grazing among a dozen elephants. Finally, his massive head dropped and he drifted off to sleep.

The monkey made its way limb-to-limb to an adjacent tree and edged carefully to the ground. He made a wide circle around Sekoa and galloped back to the hotel. A cook brandishing a meat cleaver posed a lesser threat to him than an angry and hungry lion.