Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

‘What, ownership?’

‘Not quite. But a long leasehold, which is more or less the same thing. This should make a big difference. Once these people know they’re not going to be turfed out of their homes they’ll improve them. And, just as importantly, they will have an incentive to stop newcomers building on their land. It should make a big difference. They should turn into proper bairros .’

I’d heard this argument before somewhere. ‘Sort of like Margaret Thatcher selling off council houses in this country?’

Isabel smiled. ‘That’s right.’

I thought about it. ‘Will it really work?’

‘It should do,’ said Isabel. ‘It’s certainly worth a try. We have to do something.’

‘And how will all this be financed?’

Isabel leaned forward, eager to explain. ‘That’s where we come in. Although the World Development Fund are happy to help, organizing the financing for these projects can be quite a problem. Usually it has to go through the Municipality. There, it can be mixed up with funds for other projects, and all kinds of budget-related bureaucratic restrictions have to be met. In the past there have also been accusations of contracts being awarded at inflated prices in return for kickbacks. Also this project could be partially self-financing from taxes raised from the favelas, but the Municipality is not allowed to pledge tax revenues to any specific source. So the whole idea got bogged down.’

‘Sounds like a nightmare.’

‘It was. Until we thought of the idea of a trust.’

‘A trust?’

‘Yes. A trust will be set up to fund the project. It’ll be called the Rio de Janeiro Favela Bairro Trust. It’ll be funded with one hundred million dollars from the Municipality, and two hundred million dollars from a ten-year bond issue guaranteed by the World Development Fund.’

‘And arranged by Dekker Ward.’

‘Precisely.’

‘And this trust is responsible for financing the project?’

‘That’s right. There will be trustees from the Municipality, from the favela, and from the World Development Fund.’

‘Very neat.’ I thought a moment. ‘How will the money be repaid?’

‘The trust will receive the rental payments under the long leases. Because they’re rental payments, not taxes, they can be applied to the bond issue. Of course, if that isn’t sufficient, then the Municipality or the World Development Fund will make up the difference.’

‘I see. But won’t the Rio authorities be unhappy about losing control of the funds?’

‘That’s been the problem,’ said Isabel. ‘But the current mayor of Rio really does want to do something about these places. And he and the new Finance Secretary are quite strict about not awarding contracts to political allies. This will help them clean the whole thing up.’

‘So everyone gains?’

‘That’s the intention. Brazil needs foreign capital. This is a way of making sure it gets to where it’s needed most.’

I was impressed. ‘Was this your idea?’

‘Yes. Or, at least, the trust structure was. I’ve wanted to do something like this for a long time, but no one took any notice. Then Ricardo put his support behind it, and it looks like it will finally happen. If we can squeeze it through the Brazilian bureaucrats, that is.’

‘What are they like?’

‘You’ll see.’

I left the office at about six, early by Dekker standards. I had to go home and pack before making my way out to Heathrow airport. I was excited at the prospect of the trip, but also nervous. Things were moving fast. Only three days into the job, and I was already on my first trip! Normally, I was confident in my ability to pick things up quickly, but I was afraid that I would be way out of my depth in Rio. I hoped Isabel would be patient.

I caught sight of Jamie at his desk on my way out. He waved me over.

‘How did it go with the insurance company?’ I asked.

‘Great! They’re going to commit a hundred million pounds to the emerging markets. And that’s just for starters. If they like the experience they’ll stump up more. And, have no doubt about it, I’m going to make this a wonderful experience for them.’

Then he noticed my jacket was on, and my battered briefcase bulging. ‘Where are you off to?’

‘Brazil. Ricardo asked me to help Isabel with the favela deal.’

‘That should be interesting. Isabel’s good. You can learn a lot from her. Her father’s some big-shot banker out there, so they all listen to her. But remember. Don’t touch.’

I smiled.

‘Oh, Jamie. Just before I go. I got a fax for Martin Beldecos I wanted to discuss with you. I’m not sure what I should do with it—’

Just then Jamie’s phone flashed. He picked it up. ‘Robert, hallo. It was a good meeting this afternoon, don’t you think?’

As he listened to the response, he mouthed to me, ‘Later.’

I could tell the conversation would last a while, and I didn’t want to hang around and risk missing my plane, so I waved goodbye to him and left.

Humberto Novais Alves, the Finance Secretary for the Municipality of Rio de Janeiro, leaped to his feet and held out his arms. ‘Isabel!’ he said. ‘ Tudo bem?’ He kissed both her cheeks and rattled on in Portuguese.

Isabel broke free and turned to me. ‘Humberto, this is my colleague Nick Elliot. He doesn’t speak Portuguese, but I know English isn’t a problem for you.’

‘No problem at all!’ said Humberto, pumping my hand. His round face broke into a grin. ‘Sit down, sit down.’ He gestured to a group of sofas and armchairs. ‘Some coffee?’

As Humberto organized it, I looked round his office. It was large and well furnished, no doubt befitting his status. The walls were adorned with diplomas and photographs of gleaming new housing projects. The big desk was devoid of paper. The room smelled of new carpet. Every few seconds a pneumatic drill burst into life in the street below. I glanced out of the window. We were ten floors up. The dark flanks of the Mayor’s office rose up a hundred yards away, a tower block just taller than the finance department. And behind that, the sea, mountains and the crowded buildings of Rio de Janeiro.

We had come here straight from the airport, through the chaotic grime of Rio’s northern suburbs into the shabby administrative centre of the city. Our taxi had parked in what looked like a wire-fenced building site surrounding the finance department, and we had negotiated four sets of security guards, receptionists and secretaries before finally reaching the inner sanctum of Humberto’s office.

A woman entered with a tray and three small cups of coffee, which she handed to each of us. Humberto added several spoonfuls of sugar to his, and Isabel some drops from a little blue plastic bottle. I took mine straight, and sipped the gritty black liquid carefully. It was strong and bitter.

‘And how is your dear father, Isabel?’ Humberto asked, taking a seat at the conference table. He was about fifty, and looked to my eyes more English than Brazilian. Pale and a little pudgy, with thinning dark hair, he wore a smart grey suit and striped tie. He would have blended in well in Whitehall.

‘He’s fine,’ she replied. ‘Working hard as usual.’

‘With some results. Banco Horizonte is doing very well, these days, I hear. It has quite a reputation. When was it established? Eight years ago?’

‘Ten years in October.’

‘Well, he has achieved a lot in ten years. Give him my good wishes, won’t you?’

‘I will.’ Isabel’s smile was a bit strained. I got the impression that many of her business conversations in Brazil started off with her father.