"Where exactly is this place?"
"Beyond the Sierra Divisoes, about 300 miles from here. It's on the fringe of the Matto Grosso west of Goiás."
"And you think a dam's a possibility in the neighborhood?"
"I wouldn't know. The site's between the Rio Grande and the Rio das Mortes - both of which flow north into the Araquaia - so I should guess so. But the man you want to ask is Moraes: he can tell you everything about Getuliana."
"Moraes?"
"The contractor who pulled off the deal to build the entire city center. If there are options around he'll know where and what they are - and if it would be worth your while to go up there or not."
Dom Federico de Moraes occupied three floors of a concrete polygon situated across a parched square from the government office where Solo had met the young lawyer. A big, gray man with empty eyes, he was sitting behind a teak desk staring at the wall when Solo was ushered in by a pretty Negro secretary.
"You wished to see me about some aspect of the building of Getuliana, Senhor – ah - Williams?" he rumbled, glancing at Solo's card.
"Not precisely, Dom Federico. At least not the city itself. My interest centers rather" - Solo risked a long shot - "on the dam."
"Ah, the San Felipe project!"
"Precisely. The San Felipe project."
"But I cannot see what interest that can have for an American. Especially an American lawyer."
"One had been informed - perhaps wrongly - that there might be land options negotiable on the fringes of the site, in areas cleared but not inundated. The corporation I represent would be interested in such options… either for development or simply for the mineral rights."
A door shut softly behind a dividing screen of potted plants. A tall, thin man in a white suit sauntered into the room. "Oh, sorry, Moraes," he said. "I didn't realize you had company." But he made no attempt to leave, dropping into a tan leather armchair shaped like half a golf ball and staring at Solo with unabashed curiosity.
"It's all right, Wassermann," Moraes said. "This gentleman has been sent here under a misapprehension. He seems to think there are some options available in connection with San Felipe!" He chuckled throatily.
"Options?" The thin man sat upright, his tanned, skull-like face a mask of incredulity. "At San Felipe? You must be joking! May I ask exactly where you got that idea, sir?"
"In Rio."
The two men exchanged glances over the desk. "But I'm afraid I don't understand," the contractor said. "There never have been any options available in connection with this project. The whole thing is what you Americans call a package deal. Doctor Wassermann here conceived the whole idea of building the city and opening up this barren area, persuaded the government to give him the go-ahead, raised the necessary finance in Europe and elsewhere, and negotiated the contracting deal - for everything, absolutely everything - with my company. The dam at San Felipe is simply to provide electricity for the city; that is all."
"One would be interested to learn who gave you the idea," the man in the white suit pursued. "We are more than adequately financed; we do not want your American dollars here. Nothing personal - but you can't buy your way in everywhere, you know."
Solo inclined his head. "Accepted, gentlemen," he said. "That was not my intention. It was just that I heard of the possibility of options and I considered it - foolishly, as it turns out - worth the visit to investigate."
"Yes, but heard from whom," Wasserman insisted. "There has been very little publicity - mainly because the whole project is being handled by one concern - and I'm amazed it's a talking point in Rio at all."
"A woman, actually," Solo said, deciding to trail a line in deep waters. "A woman who works for the D.A.M.E.S… at San Felipe."
Again the two businessmen exchanged glances. "Ah, the welfare ladies!" Moraes said smoothly after a moment. "Yes, of course. They are engaged in – er - resettling the natives displaced by the new lake. Although that part of the Matto Grosso plateau is relatively bare, a big reservoir such as the one formed by the San Felipe dam is bound to drown quite a few villages and farms in the valley it fills up. The D.A.M.E.S. has been most helpful in explaining to the country folk how they will benefit, and smoothing out the task of rehousing them elsewhere."
"And, apparently, setting up an unofficial agency for the disposal of our land!" Wassermann remarked dryly.
"I think you exaggerate a little, senhor," Solo said easily. "The lady did not specifically offer land for sale or state that options were available. She merely mentioned the area of operations, as it were, and said in passing that she guessed there must be a lot of money to be made by anyone who could get in on the ground floor. As that happens to be my business, I thought it worth coming to see, as I said."
"How very curious," Wassermann drawled. He rose suddenly to his feet, the elegant suit, creaseless and immaculate, bright in the shadowed office. "There are many ladies of this organization at San Felipe. Do you by any chance recall the name of the one you talked to?"
"At the moment," Solo said, looking him it the eye, "I'm afraid it escapes me."
"I see. Permit me, then, to save you any further trouble in this connection. You may take it from me that the dam, which has inundated a valley carrying a tributary of the Rio das Mortes, is in a stretch of country wild and inaccessible. Most of the rocks are ancient porphyries, of no value for mining, building or any other work. Apart from San Felipe do Caiapo itself - a village of three or four hundred people only - there are no centers of population nearer than the unfinished city. Nor are there likely to be, since there are no roads. And nor will there be any question whatever of land or mineral options."
"Nevertheless, since you use the services of the D.A.M.E.S., you must in some degree be prepared to work with Americans. The trust is wholly American-financed, you know."
"That is hardly a parallel. They provide a service we need. By contributing to their funds we, in effect, pay them. Which is a bit different from accepting money from those wishing to share our future profits!"
"Admittedly. Even so, as a businessman -"
"Good day, Mr. Williams."
And that was that. Solo cut his losses and left. He had found out more than he had dared to hope for: there was a dam and a reservoir; he knew now where it was.
There was a team of D.A.M.E.S. working at it - or at least a team of women representing themselves as the D.A.M.E.S.; and this was undoubtedly where the two girls murdered in Rio had come from. The people working on the project were the same people making the new town; and it seemed fairly certain they wanted to keep their activities secret.
Why?
What was there about another new town in Brazil - even if there might have been graft attached to the dispensation of the contracts for doing it - that was so special?
There was only one way to find out, Solo thought: go there.
---
Picking his way between slender, modernistic pillars supporting the giant canopies designed to keep the sun off the inhabitants of Brasilia, he threaded his way across the new city. Within the plane-shaped overall design of the place, squares, gardens, parking lots, shadowed pedestrian walks, and the geometric forms of buildings merged into a homogeneous whole that was as stimulating as it was right. Here was the city of the future be fore his eyes. And yet the very perfection of the place rendered it sterile and somehow un-alive. It had sprung into being straight off the drawing board, without being allowed to develop from older and more traditional failures that were there before. And perhaps because of this, it was with a sense of relief that he saw the car-rental headquarters was hewn from a different block. It was an unholy mixture of adobe and corrugated iron, a series of; long walls topped with rule-of-thumb roofs linked by the French truss method. The office was a wooden shack shoveled into a corner behind a double row of Plymouths. And to Solo it looked like home.