Search and Destroy by JT Sawyer (top non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

your campaign.” He leaned forward, his chin up. “This world needs more people with grit and determination like yourself, Ernesto. With Venezuela in the hands of such a man, think of what this country will achieve in the coming generations. I know from our previous discussions that you have an interest in reversing the tragic act of nationalizing the oil reserves in the country. With my connections abroad, you could revitalize and reactivate the oil facilities spread around the country and use that to pay off the monumental debt that Venezuela is drowning in.”

He licked his lower lip. “I am not opposed to your offer, and privatizing the oil of my nation is necessary to reverse the damage done by El Presidente, but there would have to be certain stipulations going forward, as I’ve seen what happens when big industry marches into Latin and South America. I would only consider such a venture if the oil company in question received a flat fee for each barrel that is produced rather than the doctored accounting usually employed by the oil barons of the world and foisted upon economically suffering nations like mine.”

He remained stolid, balling his fists on the table, looking out at the cesspools and oil slicks along the lake in the distance.

“Not to mention that there will have to be more stringent environmental regulations in place to prevent the towns and the jungle from being decimated, as has happened all too often with oil exploration efforts.”

Hunley circled his thumb around the rim of his empty coffee mug. “The latter I can understand. You don’t want anyone shitting in your backyard. Lord knows there’s been enough environmental degradation in every corner of the globe since the start of the industrial revolution. But the former request is unprecedented and not something any oil company I know of would go for. You’re asking them to make a huge investment in a country, moving all their hardware and tech guys down here and then refurbishing the decaying infrastructure of the existing pipelines and machinery, not to mention retraining the local workers. All of that and then you would only provide pennies on the barrel. That won’t fly.”

“My country will not be subject to…” Rimaldi was cut off as Hunley leaned forward, patting him on the arm.

“My friend, I’m not the trigger-man here. I’m only telling you my experience with the oil industry in these parts based upon working as an ambassador next door and from what I’ve seen with the petroleum lobbyists in DC. Trust me, I get where you are coming from. I do. But the only way to get out from under the massive debt this country is in is to open up your vast oil reserves to an outside firm, and I consult for one that would be a good fit. One that would not rape the countryside. I can arrange for you to meet with the CEO. He’s a fair man and would provide a healthy profit that would benefit both your nation and his company. This is the only way. But it has to be more of a partnership if it’s going to work.”

Hunley thrust his smooth chin out to the rusting hulk of a large refinery to the north. “And with many of the facilities already in place around this country, there would be little need to hack into the jungle any further. With the state-of-the-art water treatment methods being employed by the petroleum industry now, the lakes in your nation would be crystal clear like they were when you were a kid.”

Rimaldi looked at the derelict building with swarms of seagulls on its corroded roof. He watched two small boys prying a dead crab from the water, its shell coated with slick black grease, while several barefoot children ran up with ragged clothing on their emaciated frames.

He had already done his homework on Hunley and knew the man was interested in more than supporting a political candidate for a just cause. He had seen the disastrous results of the CIA’s involvement in Latin America in the eighties and nineties and wasn’t about to end up having his airplane mysteriously go down in flames because he failed to support someone else’s agenda.

What choice did he have but to work with foreigners and outside investors if he was ever to prevent the death spiral of his homeland? He knew from experience, and the history of the region, that once a large outside corporation sunk its claws into a troubled nation, claiming to provide jobs, health care or education in exchange for tapping into the natural resources of the area, a master-slave system would ensue, with two percent of the country’s elite getting richer while the rest plunged into greater poverty. He also knew how presidencies were won—charisma and heartfelt speeches would always be trumped by major financial contributions by the opposition. The former he felt was turning in his favor, but the influence of the ruling elite in Caracas would only be squelched with considerable financial intervention, not to mention bribing the military officers currently supporting El Presidente. It was a criminal mindset that he had learned to better understand in law school, but the thought of adopting such tactics made his stomach churn.

But there is no turning back now.

Too many people were looking to him for answers, and he felt a calling deep in his bones to keep marching forward, as though his entire life had led to this campaign.

Rimaldi watched the children trot off with the blackened crab, disappearing into the maze of ragged huts along an alley.

This can’t be all they know. There has to be another life for them—for the rest of my people. There are no other options but to work with the Americans for now, and this guy seems like the least insidious of them so far.

He found his shoulders sagging, and he forced himself upright, looking at Hunley. “What do you need from me for this proposal to move forward?”