Doing Dangerously Well (20 page)

With only three hours to go before the all-important Friday meeting, Barbara began to panic. She knew far less than they would about Nigeria, water politics, TransAqua, activism or any other question she might have to field. Plus, she had never met Femi Jegede—never even seen a picture of him. A sense of impending disaster hung over her.

With no one else to turn to, she called Astro—he who lived at the shimmering periphery of existence, far from the complexities and intrigues of life at its epicentre.

She dialled her new number. “Hi. It’s Barbara.”

“Yeah. I know it’s you, man. You think I don’t know your voice?”

“Well, yes, but this is a typical phone greeting.” She tried to keep her temper in check. “I have a problem.”

“Ooh!” He sounded pleased. “Okay, Skippy, let me get a pen and notebook.”

Barbara sketched out the big picture, leaving Astro in utter confusion. His tendency was to work from fact and detail outwards towards the visions of others, whereas Barbara worked from the big picture down to its unnecessary details. It took almost forty minutes for Astro to get the specifics in correct order, by which time Barbara had almost depleted the shallow pool of her tolerance.

“Well, it’s pretty obvious what you’ve got here, Bibble. You’ve got no facts.”

“I’ve just given you the facts!” she shrieked.

“Those aren’t facts, Babs. That’s what is called ‘train of thought.’” She could hear the quote marks. “Just get three facts. For example, where was Femi when the dam broke? You only need to be one step ahead. Know why?”

She let a disapproving silence hang between them.

“Because, Bibs, to them, you’re the big cheese. And why?” He waited for an answer, then cued himself back in. “Because you lied to them …”

“Okay, I can do that. What else?”

“… which I don’t think will get you very far.”

“Next?”

“Well, what’s your sister been up to? I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. Let’s see. Facts. What’s the president like? Is he an approachable guy? You just need three—”

Barbara’s body tingled. Astro had found the answer. She slammed down the phone and clicked back on to the Internet. It took her very little time to find out that Femi’s last meeting had taken place in Abuja; therefore, he must still be alive. Barbara decided face-to-face contact was called for. Perhaps she could take a train across Nigeria. She had always wanted to pat a zebra.

She emailed one of the journalists who had reported on Femi’s successes in Abuja, then turned her attention to President Ogbe Kolo. After much searching in the hidden bowels of the virtual vault that tenaciously hoarded histories, she struck gold. Here is where the tragedy of Kolo’s early life was laid bare. Barbara tilted back in her chair, sensitive to the prevailing winds of providence and the momentum gifted to her through this information. Kolo must have an indelible impression of the devastation wrought by the power of water. It had accidentally killed his twin. His relationship with it would doubtless be defined by reverence. This could only work in her favour.

Barbara flipped her cellphone open to get information on the last remaining item.

“Mary Glass.”

“Hi. It’s Barbara.”

“What do you want?”

Barbara waited a moment before responding. “Just phoning to see how you are. You asked me to call you when I found out who I report to.”

“Uh-huh. Really, Barbie? I can hardly remember, since it was so long ago.”

“Well, I had to tour key sites, of course. I can hardly do my job sitting at a desk! Just a moment. Someone’s at the door.” She put Mary on hold for a minute, then casually resumed the conversation. “You were right: it’s … hold on.” She put Mary back on hold. After looking at her nails for a further minute, she picked up the receiver again. “Mary? Oh, are you still there? What was I saying again?”

“You were telling me,” Mary’s voice resonated with restraint, “who your new boss is at UNEP.”

“Ah, yes. Yes, yes, yes. That’s right. My new boss. At UNEP. His name is, um …” Barbara checked her notes, “… Herman Meyer. Does that sound familiar to you?”

Mary took Barbara off speakerphone. “You’re kidding!”

“No—is that such a big deal?”

“With his support, the World Bank will spring for funds needed by the Nigerian government for dam construction.”

Barbara had a sense that even more was at stake. Her sister sounded too excited. She spoke as slowly as she could. “Surely,” she dragged out the word, “surely the World Bank will approve of anything Nigeria needs right n—”

“Not necessarily. The World Bank hardly funds any large dam projects anymore.”

Barbara yawned. “How big is the dam?”

“It’s going to be the biggest in the world. Over twenty thousand megawatts. And it’s got support from the top.”

The pride in Mary’s voice forced Barbara to deploy even more aggressive tactics. Such as indifference. “Twenty thousand
megawatts? I think they’ve built a bigger one in Brazil, haven’t they?” Then, before Mary could respond, “So you say you have support from the president?”

“Yep. And in return, we get rights to the Niger River. Actually, you’re lucky you caught me. Contract’s just been signed. I’ve literally just returned. By limo.”

“Well, I’ll see what we can do to help speed things up. Oooh. Sandwiches are here. Must go.” She hung up.

Barbara now had her three pieces of information. Astro had been right-build from the ground up. With this information, she could draw others to her cause.

At 4 p.m., or to be exact, at ten minutes past, Barbara entered the boardroom.

“Welcome!” Not one muscle on the monolith’s face moved. “I hope you’ve all been introduced.”

Barbara had no idea why Jane had invited support staff to such a critical meeting, nor why Dahlia had considered this ramshackle group of outcasts radical.

“So, Barbara,” Jane continued, “tell us your ideas.”

Barbara shuffled some papers into a pile and launched into a powerful introduction. “TransAqua is a psychopathic monster, a rampant egomaniac, in the most florid stages of its madness. To date, no individual, no organization, no government, has challenged its ascendancy.”

The room plunged into an immobilized awe.

Her voice assumed a perilously muted tone. “A no-doubt beleaguered President Kolo just signed a contract yesterday with TransAqua to build a twenty-thousand-megawatt dam, and they have forced him to relinquish the rights to the Niger River.”

A collective intake of breath as her audience plummeted into hideous regions of disbelief.

“We need to expose culpability at all levels within the corporate structure. Not just the CEO, but every VP, every sales guy, every secretary; it’s time for each member of the corporate family to be called to account. Whether corner office or cubicle, no one should be afforded protection. Drop of Life needs to combat a monster at the height of its lunatic powers. With such disclosures, Kolo’s regime will topple.”

Gums was awestruck by the new note of adventure that had landed there. Mimi looked outclassed, her overly white teeth gleaming like a plaster cast embedded in her face. Barbara could not discern Brad’s reaction.

Jane’s wrinkles shifted in approval. “Sounds innovative. How do you propose to do this?”

“Facts! Details!” Barbara slapped the table twice, inadvertently stinging her hand. “That’s all I deal in. We need someone in the organization to record the route of one piece of paper. From mailroom to manager to meeting to media to …” she couldn’t think of another “m” word, “… to recycl—,” then found one, “to mulch.”

“Do companies use paper anymore?” Mimi battled with a nail.

Barbara lifted a stern index finger into the air. “It’s only those obscure scraps of paper that contain the truth. The first jottings of a to-do list. For example, a list of villages to be evacuated. As it moves around and outside the corporation, it goes, as they say, from prose to poetry.”

“What an awesome saying!” Gums twinkled.

“Let’s not be seduced, Krystal. It’s our job to put a stop to all poetry. If any crumpled bit of paper mentions anything covert, any financials, anything that would implicate the people who process it, we need to follow it.”

They all turned to Mimi, who straightened in her chair. “Can do, hon.”

Brad may have added something. Whatever it was, Barbara cut in. “I’ll fly to Abuja to meet Femi Jegee-dee. I’ll explain how to organize a resistance movement. And I’ll arrange a meeting with President Kolo; given how he is being taken advantage of, he should be very sympathetic to our cause.” She dropped to a tone of deepest empathy. “You may not know, but his identical twin accidentally drowned in the family’s swimming pool, and that’s why he, and he alone, continually tried to warn the former government about the dangers of Kainji Dam. But no one would listen. Well, I intend to listen to everything his heart wishes to pour out.”

Jane nodded, took her cane and swayed to a standing position. Her gravitational pull stirred the energies of the others, and they swirled up in gentle eddies as she departed.

S
lowly creeping its way to the team meeting was the creak of sneakers. Not boots. Sneakers, in the depths of winter. Cheeseman must have had to cut short a golf trip to Hawaii for this. He would be at his most unforgiving. Mary’s leg doubled the tempo of its jittering. The entire team cracked open their water bottles.

“So, what have you fuckers been up to now?” Cheeseman had brought his putting iron.

“Good morning, Mr. Cheeseman.” Sinclair displayed his house of marble. “I hope your game—”

“Sinclair, wipe that idiotic grin off yer face.” Cheeseman leaned over and put an ashtray and golf ball on the carpet.

Sinclair’s smile snapped shut. Mary’s spirits rose for a nanosecond.

“Glass?”

“Yes.”

“Report.” He wiggled his ass as he readied for the putt.

“Well, Kolo has signed the agreement—”

“What?” Sinclair jumped, his gelled hair glinting in the glare of halogen lamps.

Cheeseman beamed. “Good work, Glass.”

“Signed, Glass?” Sinclair asked. “I doubt it. I’ve got the
signed
agreement.” Sinclair drew a file out of his briefcase; his manicured hand slid it towards Cheeseman. “Here it is.” Sinclair dispatched a sparkling flossed smile.

Mary almost vomited the tiny morsels to which her system clung so desperately.

“Check mine if you want.” Mary placed her own papers in a neat pile in front of Cheeseman.

He grabbed both piles. “Let’s see the signatures.”

He checked them both over and then broke out in a smile. Mary could feel a vein pulsing in her neck.

“What is it, Mr. Cheeseman?” Sinclair ventured.

“Same signature. And on the 8th of March. In London.” He chuckled as he tightened his grip on the putter. He looked as if he intended to swing it at both their skulls. “You each signed a different contract with the same guy?” His merriment morphed into fury. “What the hell have you been doing, Sinclair? First you back some dust-kissing loser with the lifespan of a cicada, then you sign a contract with some hobo—don’t interrupt. I won’t even
ask
what you were doing, Glass, but I sure hope it felt good, ’cause it’s gonna cost you your job if you don’t get something on my desk by 8 a.m. Monday. Do you understand?”

He scanned the documents more closely. “Okay, Glass, you’ve managed a 70 percent return on investment … Whoa, Sinclair—well done!” A burning sensation ripped through Mary’s lower abdomen, joining a network of other internal spasms that riddled her panicking body. “It seems you’ve actually managed
30 percent!” The pains subsided. “P’raps one day,” he addressed Sinclair as if telling a nursery story, “you can ask Glass how to negotiate.” He kept scanning down. “Glass-cut the construction burden down. It seems Kolo’s willing to assume 80 percent of the burden. You’ve got him at 40 percent. He’ll get the money from the World Bank. If you don’t know how to do this,” he peered up from the paper, “ask Sinclair. Glass, get to it. Report on my desk Monday. As for you, Sinclair—”

“Sir, please.” Sinclair’s bronze tan could not hide his deathly pallor. “I have another plan.”

“Another plan?” Cheeseman turned away from Sinclair to include his audience. “I can’t believe the creativity of this guy.”

“I would need to discuss the full details with you in private. Please, sir. Kolo is hardly someone we can do business with.”

Mary’s heart thumped so hard, she could swear the others could see her ribs twitch. She wanted to wipe the drip off her nose, but like an animal whose only defence is camouflage, she dared not make a move.

Cheeseman continued staring, not allowing a single blink to soften his features.

Then he looked down at his fingers.

“Phone me tomorrow at 6 a.m.,” he finally said to Sinclair. He turned to the rest of them. “I don’t want one word-nothing-about this disaster to leave this room, unnerstand? If anything leaks out, you’re fired. Hell, we’re all fired.”

He slammed the door as he left.

Sinclair polished off an entire litre of water without coming up for air.

As Cheeseman’s footsteps faded down the corridor, Sinclair stalked towards the door. Beano just managed to catch up with him. “Anything I can do to help? I may have friends in Sewage—”