herself as Suarez’s assistant and escorted him via an elevator to the top floor where the economic attaché, a tall, thin, gaunt, gray-haired man, was waiting in his office. Craig had pulled up his bio on the Internet. Suarez wasn’t a career diplomat. This was his first post abroad. He was here because of his contacts. Suarez’s father was a large landowner, winemaker, and cattle baron. Jorge himself was a prominent figure in banking. Craig’s guess was that he was well connected with the top business interests in the country and that he was closely tied in to Estrada. That’s what he was hoping. Craig wanted Suarez to file a report on their visit—one that would find its way back to BA and perhaps even to General Estrada.
Preferring the element of surprise, Craig had provided very little information about what he wanted when he had called Suarez’s assistant to arrange the meeting. All he had said was, “My private equity fund is considering a substantial investment in Argentina.” That was enough for her to return to the phone and to offer Craig any time today he wanted.
Admitted to the inner sanctum, Craig sat down across a round wooden table from Suarez and waited for the secretary to deposit two cups of espresso, then depart.
He slipped another business card out of his pocket, handed it to Suarez, and watched his host do the same.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Philoctetes Group,” Craig said.
Craig knew he couldn’t possibly because the Group didn’t exist. Suarez nodded eagerly. The economic attaché wouldn’t want to display his ignorance.
Craig glanced at his watch anxiously. His message was subtle but clear: I’m an important man. My time is limited.
“Let me get right to the point, Mr. Suarez …”
“Please, you can call me Jorge.”
“Jorge … I currently have a fund of ten billion dollars raised from wealthy individuals and companies around the world. These are people seeking a good return on their money. I’m focusing on Latin America because I see that as a relatively untapped market.”
Suarez sat up ramrod straight in his chair. Craig had his attention.
Speaking rapidly, Craig continued, “One of my research people thinks Argentina merits a careful look. Frankly, I laughed at her when she said it, but she’s never been wrong yet. So I decided to schedule a trip to Buenos Aires and have a look for myself. Before going down, I figured I’d stop in Washington and talk to you. Maybe you can give me a name or two I can start with in BA.”
Suarez was bubbling over with enthusiasm. “That’s an excellent idea. Emilio Miranda is the man you should talk to. He’s the head of the National Business Alliance. My assistant will give you his phone number before you leave. I’ll e-mail him and let him know you’re coming.”
“Don’t raise his expectations too high. From everything I’ve read in the last couple of days, your economic recovery is stalled. Chile may be a much better place for me to invest.”
Suarez frowned. “The economic numbers coming out of Santiago are phony. Made up out of whole cloth. I’m sure an intelligent man like you will realize that when you have an opportunity to study them carefully.”
“In Argentina, your political system is killing the economy. Let’s face it. Menem was corrupt and a playboy. But at least when he was president in the nineties, the country was booming. His privatization program stimulated the economy. Garcia is one more in a series of disasters you’ve had in that office.”
“We have an election in January. That could …”
Craig scowled. “Another political hack with promises of pie in the sky won’t make a difference. Unless the Argentine government is run in a radically different manner, you’ll never achieve your economic potential. It’s as simple as that. You need someone like General Estrada to take charge. Somebody who can get things done. Bring stability. Stop catering to the unions. Make the trains