"Well," Frank said consolingly, "You did make it to Deputy Minister of Development, Industry, and Trade. That's not bad for someone who only got a 'D' in Economics."
"Pah!" Joao replied. "Those capitalist fools of professors could not see that socialism is the only truly egalitarian system."
"Y'know, Joao," said Frank, "If you really believed that crap, you'd be running for President, running around making speeches to the Amazon tribes."
"All right," Joao replied in his accentless English, "You didn't call me after fifteen years just to trade insults. What do you need, and how many of your billions can I get to provide it?"
Frank chuckled. "I'm already going through those billions quickly enough, thank you. But I may be able to send a few million Brazil's way. I'm working on the biggest project I've ever tackled, and Brazil can be a part of it. For right now, I need an introduction and an appointment with someone high up in the Brazilian Space Agency. The higher the better. And the sooner the better."
"Oh, no," Joao groaned theatrically. "Frank Weatherly is taking over space. The rest of the world might as well cancel their programs now, and save the money."
"Well, maybe not quite," Frank replied, his tone turning serious. "But I do need your help, Joao. Brazil is uniquely situated to be a key player in this project, and Brazil could definitely benefit."
Joao's bantering tone faded to match Frank's seriousness. "Okay, Frank. It happens that I play a lot of golf with the Deputy Director, Afonso Matines. Where are you? How long will it take you to get here? 'Here' being Brasilia, of course."
After spending three days in Moscow waiting for a Brazilian visa, Frank arrived at the Brasilia International airport only two hours after Susan arrived from Atlanta.
Actually, the delay did not bother Frank. He called Susan, and had her start on her own visa. He was jolted by how much her voice affected him, and by how much he looked forward to her joining him in Brazil. But he had plenty of backed up work he'd been ignoring since arriving in Moscow. His brokers were complaining that his Russian investment could lose him over a million dollars due to the lowered prices he would receive by selling shares quickly. Frank's return e-mail reminded them that they were brokers, and that if they couldn't shift some shares around without losing a million dollars, he needed new brokers. The tone of succeeding e-mails rapidly changed, and it suddenly appeared he might actually make over a million from selling a different mix of shares.
And on, and on. Frank had quickly forgotten that he had spent the last two years devoting almost twelve hours a day to monitoring his investments. He was tipped off that a broker for Space-X was quietly trying to find out about Frank's space-related investment activity, and smiled to himself. Thanks to his success in Russia, Frank expected that a Buran would be ready to lift before the Space-X Heavy was operational. Of course, if the Russian mission had failed, he might have been counting heavily on that booster; and he still might need it to launch unmanned supply missions.
At any rate, the questions were beginning, and would soon develop into rumors. Soon Frank would start getting phone calls from other wealthy investors, trying to find out if Frank was getting in on the ground floor of something good. Frank smiled. In a few months, he had a feeling there would be a surge in space investment, similar to what had happened a few years earlier with Space-X and Scaled Composites. But those companies were closely held, while the Russians were actually courting investors. He wondered if his project had already begun showing results; reigniting interest in space development, and freeing up investment money that the worldwide "American recession" had locked down.
Joao picked them up at the airport and delivered them to their hotel. He was a dark man in late middle age, with a gleaming, toothy smile.
As Frank dismissed the bellman who delivered his baggage, Joao dropped into one of the suite's comfortable upholstered chairs.
"All right, Frank," he said, "I've gone along with this so far, but now you want to talk to some pretty high-powered brass. It's time to tell me what's going on."
Frank nodded with a smile. He gave Joao a summary of the plan, and briefed him on the status of the Buran purchase. "Now, I need a launch site." He concluded, "and I'd like to use Alcântara."
Joao was frowning. "But why Brazil? Why not take it to ESA? They have a launch site a few miles north of ours in French Guiana."
Frank sighed and his smile turned sad. "I'd really rather explain that at the meeting, so I don't have to repeat it. Suffice it to say that I'm prepared to spend millions to lease ground at the Launch Center, build a launch pad large enough to launch a space shuttle, and build a huge hangar and assembly building."
Joao whistled. "I think I'd better expand the guest list. Can you hold off another day so I can put it together?"
The large conference room that Frank and Susan entered at the Ministry of Space was nearly full. In short order, Frank was introduced to the Deputy Minister of Space, and Deputy Ministers from Science and Technology, Foreign Relations, Joao's own Development, Industry and Trade, and finally Defense, accompanied by a uniformed General. The last two were the ones Frank really wanted to impress. He was about to offer the others things that they wanted. But several space-related development attempts in Brazil had been killed by the military, who had originally controlled the space program, and still had a strong voice.
Susan had prepared information packets for each attendee, and several were leafing through them when he arrived.
Frank thanked them all for coming, and then launched into his briefing on his program, including the Buran purchases and the support of NPO Molniya and RKK Energia. "This program is real, gentlemen," he concluded, "and I am prepared to spend millions to make it happen."
The Deputy Minister for Defense asked the obvious question. "Why Brazil? Why not America? Or Russia? Or ESA?"
Frank took a deep breath. "I have been told I have a lamentable lack of faith in my fellow man," he said. "In this case, I don't trust NASA and the U.S. government. For years now, I suspect it has been U.S. government policy to have a finger in every space enterprise that shows signs of life.
Mostly, they do it by "giving" it money and then demanding information and decision-making authority in exchange. If the program shows the possibility of a success, they either tie it up with a government contract, or throw cold water on it by loudly withdrawing their support, or using the technology transfer laws, as they did with Brazil and the Sealaunch project.
Basically, they either control it or destroy it, all the time managing to look like a benign neutral. They are the big dog on the block, and they plan to stay the big dog.
"Now," he continued, "I need a launch site. But this is my, well, my obsession, I guess. I don't want it to be an American program, or a Russian program. I want it to be mankind's program; truly international in scope. That's why I can't just use Baikonur, even though at least one of the Burans is already there. If we launch a Russian-built ship from a Russian launch site, in the eyes of the world it becomes a Russian project.
"But America has a lot of weight to throw around, and no visible scruples. If I'm to make this work, I'll have to launch from a country that:" He began ticking off points on his fingers. "A: is neutral, tied to none of the superpowers, B: has a strong economy, reducing the chances of successful U.S. blackmail, C: Is free, independent, and proud. Brazil has built the fourth largest economy in the world, and you've done it without becoming either a Russian or a U.S. lackey. D: has a real, functioning space program, and finally, E: is militarily strong enough to enforce its neutrality.