When the Singing Stops (42 page)

‘I've got him in my sights,' said Matthew who was facing Madi and Connor and could see across the room behind them. ‘He's talking to Olivera.'

‘He's in it too,' she hissed.

‘In what, Madi?'

‘They're all part of the casino consortium. They're the men behind the mysterious El Dorado company which is the financial backer of the casino.'

‘Christ. Time to leave, I think,' said Matthew. ‘You two go first, I'll follow in a little while. Go straight back to Connor's. I'll meet you there in an hour and we'll see if we can make sense of this.'

They sat in silence as Connor drove them back to the house. Once inside, Madi flung herself into Connor's arms. ‘Oh God, that was horrible. I kept trying so hard not to show that I recognised him. Do you think he suspects? Lady Annabel said I looked like I needed rescuing.'

‘Don't panic yet. That could mean you just looked bored, anything. Sit down and have a drink.'

Matthew arrived, and a short time later another car drew up and Stewart Johns joined them.
Matthew quickly filled him in on the meeting with Bacchus. Connor handed around fresh drinks and the group began to weigh up the links between El Dorado, Guyminco, Ernesto St Kitt's death, the drug scene and the casino.

‘The casino is the key to it all. The perfect way to launder money. And if Bacchus is also head of a bank, is also running a drug racket, it's obvious where the money to fund the casino is coming from,' said Johns.

‘But what's the connection with El Dorado and Guyminco?'

‘Blackmail, or so-called economic pressure, call it what you will. Guyminco—and who knows how many other companies—must have had the hard word put on them to cough up protection money, otherwise contracts and other things didn't happen for them.'

‘Like what?' asked Madi.

‘Like parts and supplies not getting through, approvals and permissions, you name it. Bankers, government officials and political lobbyists can be very persuasive,' said Connor.

‘So how exactly does the Amazonia casino and resort fit in?' Madi persisted, trying to get the full picture.

‘What better way to move money around and make money at the same time? Under cover of a legitimate business that is going to provide jobs and boost the economy,' said Matthew.

‘Can't we tell the police . . . or someone?' asked Madi.

Johns spoke up. ‘Now, this is where we're going to have to be very careful. For a start I would recommend Madison leave the country and Connor you keep a low profile.'

‘I'm not going. Sorry, Mr Johns, I can't leave. Can't something be done to prove what's going on?' said Madi in frustration.

‘Like what? When there are government officials, the head of a South American bank, and probably the police, all in it,' said Matthew.

Madi thought back to Police Inspector Palmer and his handling of her original complaint about the attempt on their lives by the drug runners. And she had to agree Matthew was probably right.

Johns finished his drink then spoke calmly and decisively. ‘Not everyone in the government is corrupt. There are good guys—like poor Ernesto St Kitt. It's around the middle area of the bureaucracy where the mud starts sticking. I could take this issue up very discreetly with the relevant ministers and go right to the top.'

‘We have no proof,' said Matthew.

Johns rose. ‘Let's wait till after this Carnivale shindig is over and everyone's back at work, we'll deal with it then. Good night. And you keep your head down, Madison. And you too, Connor. Bacchus will recognise you, as well.'

‘Thank you, we will,' Connor replied for both of them.

Matthew walked with his boss down to the car.

‘I suppose he's apologising for the uproar that's gone on since you arrived in this country,' grinned Connor.

Madi glared at him. ‘You sound as though I'm responsible!'

‘Well, you have landed in some amazing situations and you are certainly making it clear where your eco political allegiances are . . . and that can't make people like Sasha St Herve, Olivera and Bacchus too happy. You have rather stirred the possum, although I admit I've been there with you.'

‘Listen, Connor, you know very well how strongly I feel about this country and its people. I'm not making a stand or getting involved for selfish reasons. I feel motivated to fight for them . . .'

‘At the cost of possibly your life! Get real, Madi, you're way out of your depth in this one. This is a complex political game with heavy players . . . you can't sail in and push your green barrow here and think everyone will go along with you. You'll get shot down in more ways than one.'

‘Don't be so condescending,' she said in frustration and, she had to admit, fear. She knew their lives were in danger and the knowledge made her head spin.

Connor rushed to Madi and wrapped his arms about her. ‘We're tired, it's been a dreadful experience seeing Bacchus and bringing up all that stuff again . . . it's scary. Don't worry, my
darling. Matthew and I are going to keep you safe.'

‘You're in danger too, Connor,' she said in a muffled voice.

In the morning, Madi felt no brighter. Connor showed her how to lock the security grilles and kissed her goodbye as he headed to his office in town. ‘Have a quiet day. Stay low and read a good book,' he grinned.

She nodded and half an hour later picked up the phone. ‘Come and get me please, Lester.'

L
ester parked the taxi, locked it and tossed a coin to the boy hovering at the roadside who swiftly pocketed the money, calling, ‘Yas sir, yas master, dere be four wheels on yo car when yo come back. Ah does watch him good fo yo!'

‘Dere better be four wheels on him boy, ah don' own dis one. Yo watch him very good.'

Lester and Madi headed for The Pepperpot, their favourite small cafe. On the drive to the area, Madi had told Lester of the shock meeting at the cocktail party the night before. As they walked along the crowded street, rarely finding room on the sidewalk, Lester gave his grass-roots appraisal of the banker Rashid Bacchus. ‘He be a powerful man, mighty powerful. Dat
banker like an octopus man, he got tentacles everywhere. His name get mentioned in certain deals, but never de mud stick. He one slippery customer, I tink. Dangerous too. An' he very, very rich.'

‘Where's his money come from?'

‘He say India family. I say, we poor people. De bank all de time throw de poor people out of de houses and de land, dey do some money trick, legal trick, and de poor people always be de ones payin.'

‘I think a big chunk of it's coming from drug running. You know, Lester, when I look at some of those huge houses going up in the suburbs, the mansions, now where are those people getting the money when they're not employed by foreign companies?'

‘Yo' right dere! Friends of mine, dey be drivers and maids and gatemen, and dey tell me 'bout cars late at night, trips away, strange tings dat go on. It all smell bad, but everyone too scared to say nuttin'. Everyone hopin' some of de profit come dere way.' Lester shook his head as he stepped in front of Madi as they walked single file along the roadside. ‘It be no way to run a country, man.'

They were forced to the edge of the road by the crowds, the parked cars and overflowing vendors, bicycles and milling people.

Behind Madi, there was a roar of a motor as an old American model V8 car suddenly accelerated, swerved and would have collected her if,
for some reason, Madi hadn't stepped sideways behind a man wheeling a small cart laden with crates of beer. The speeding car clipped the cart sending bottles of beer flying everywhere. But it didn't stop and, with its horn blowing loudly, ploughed a path through the confusion of traffic.

Madi's heart was beating fast and she felt slightly faint, then realised she was clutching her wooden frog tucked into the pocket of her white slacks.

‘Man, dat was close. Yo be lucky. How come yo stepped away? Yo hear him coming?' Lester took her arm.

Madi was dazed. ‘It was like I was pulled to one side, I can't explain it.' They looked at each other. ‘Do you think he was deliberately trying to hit me?'

‘We sure need dat coffee. Let's get out of here.' Lester led her into the coffee shop as the chaos on the street continued to escalate.

They sat away from the door, facing the street. Madi was shaken by the experience because she knew that the swerving car had been no accident, but a deliberate attempt on her life.

‘I guess we don't have to figure out who was trying to hurt me,' she said weakly.

‘I tink you—and Connor—better git out of town for a bit. Wait and see if yo brudder's boss can do some good wit de government. Who he talkin' to?'

‘I don't know, Lester.' Madi rubbed her
eyes. ‘Seems to me it's impossible to know who's honest.'

‘Den I tink you go away . . . another little holiday, eh?'

‘I don't want to miss the Carnivale.'

‘Yo talk to your brudder . . . maybe yo could go to stay at de guesthouse at yo brudder's mine. It not be so far and yo all be looked after up dere,' he suggested.

‘Lester, that's a great idea. I'll suggest that. I'm sure Matthew can always find some reason to go to the mine. And Connor too.'

Lester looked relieved to once again see a smile on Madi's face. But her effusiveness disappeared as the reality that someone had seriously tried to injure or even kill her, continued to dominate her thinking, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it. God, what had she gotten herself into?

Matthew and Connor swiftly agreed to a few days at Guyminco. Both had been appalled at the story she'd related of the hit and run attack. Matthew spoke to his boss and the following day he drove Connor and Madi up to the mine.

Sitting on the enclosed verandah of Wanika House and looking out at the calm gardens and smooth expanse of the Demerara River, Madi felt a sense of tranquillity she hadn't felt since being in the interior.

While Connor spoke with Gordon Ash
about the future of privatisation and the sale of Guyminco, Matthew did the rounds of all the administrative departments and came away impressed with the steadily improving attitude and positive approach to their work by staff at all levels. The prospects for the sale of the mine as a going concern were looking far better than when they'd first arrived.

Madi set herself up at a table in the downstairs sitting room and resumed writing her proposal for Xavier on the establishment and marketing of eco tourism as a practical and viable industry.

The housekeeper, Shanti, was thrilled to have the three of them in residence. The plump and happy woman was a delight and exuded a sense of wisdom and earthiness. Madi remembered Matthew's letter describing how Shanti had taken him to the obeah man after the bat had attacked him soon after he arrived in Guyana.

While the men spent their time at the bauxite mine, Madi was waited on with biscuits and coffee as she worked on the upper verandah with her notebook. Shanti asked Madi what she was writing and Madi described her idea of developing small holiday places where visitors could experience the ‘real Guyana'.

‘Not all the real Guyana be beautiful places like Kaieteur and Rupununi, Miss Madi. Dere be poor places and scary places, too.'

‘But that's in the cities and shantytowns. And Guyana isn't unique in having an ugly side. Even rich countries like America and Australia have poor people. Shameful, but there it is, I'm afraid.'

‘You know what make dese problems? Greedy people. De government say we let in foreigners to dig de gold and minerals and make Guyana rich. But ah don't see no riches dropping in ma front door.' Shanti gave a wide smile. ‘But you would be welcome in my home. You come visit one day. My family live just down there.' She pointed through some coconut palms.

‘The nicest thing about Guyana is the people. So friendly, so hospitable . . . that's a big attraction for visitors,' said Madi, smiling at the dark-skinned, motherly woman.

‘Trouble is we don' believe we have same culture or past. We Indians come as workers like the African slaves, even the Amerindians fought each other in early days. Then we get ruled by all different people from Europe. It's like we haven't decided who we be as just Guyanese people.'

‘That's a pretty good place to start, Shanti, just being Guyanese people.'

‘But we still have de old powers if you know where to go. Sometimes de old ways work good.' There was a shout from the cook below, and Shanti turned away.

She clattered down the stairs and Madi was
left pondering over her last remark. She turned back to her proposal and continued writing.

That afternoon Madi wandered along a canal where a coconut grove lined the banks. Piles of coconuts and husks were heaped beneath the feathery-topped trees. A nanny goat, pink udder bulging, snuffled amongst the debris.