The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(72)



Today she’d stand in for her family. Papa might not be here in person, but he was certainly with her in spirit.

Even at this early hour, the region’s heat nearly overwhelmed the air-conditioning. Thea slipped off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair. The gallery brimmed with international press covering the negotiations, executives from other oil companies, and countless others—including Gabrielle and Max. Prime Minister Kimweri had insisted on making the opening remarks accessible to the public because he wanted to demonstrate that Kanzi had zero tolerance for corruption, unlike some of its neighboring countries.

A hand rested on her shoulder. She turned. Nikos.

“Sleep well, sis?”

“All things considered, not bad. You?” She surveyed her brother’s crisp white shirt, black suit, and gleaming oxfords. Tall and fit, he looked the part of a confident, polished businessman, an image utterly incongruent with the lice-ridden, terrified boy she’d just read about in his journal notes.

“I’m looking forward to seeing how today unfolds.” He sat down in the chair beside her. “As I told you yesterday, I’ve dealt with the Quan family before. They are masters of guanxi, spending a lot of time with the locals, building relationships. We don’t know what they’ve promised the prime minister behind closed doors. But Papa has a long-standing relationship with Kimweri, so he should have that angle covered.”

Guanxi—the Chinese cultural approach to business, which prioritized bonding with fellow citizens, rating the welfare of the group higher than that of the individual. After handling several kidnappings in Beijing, she understood how the intricate culture focused on hierarchy and trading favors.

Nikos was right. Ahmed had told her they’d hired investigators to research the Quans, following them when they visited Kanzi. Their team knew exactly which perks the Chinese had promised the locals.

Given the Chinese tradition of addressing all the issues in the negotiation simultaneously, in no apparent order, patience would be crucial to keep things on an even keel. Ahmed had also shared that he didn’t want the Paris Industries team to be portrayed as stereotypically American—arrogant, risk-taking, and overly direct. That wouldn’t work here. Adaptation was a negotiator’s best asset. Today, Chinese traditions, African customs, and American business would collide—giving her a chance to study all the players in detail.

The Paris Industries table was positioned at the front left of the room, close to where the Kanzi dignitaries would soon file in for the opening ceremonies. The Quans headed for the Chinese National Oil Company table on the right, Chi in a dark suit and Xi-Ping sporting a black sheath that left little to the imagination. The Chinese beauty looked at Nikos like a piece of meat she’d like to devour. Well, by the end of the day, Thea hoped Xi-Ping would have lost her appetite entirely. Ahmed had a few surprises planned.

Nikos leaned close. “I’m sure Father offered a large signing bonus and royalties—we can easily match the Quans in that domain. But Ahmed will need to avoid getting bogged down in the details. Because Chinese children learn symbols rather than letters for language, they develop a strong affinity for big-picture thinking. We must not fail to see the forest for the trees.”

Her brother’s insightful presence comforted her. She’d developed good intuition thanks to her work in K&R, but Nikos offered a uniquely qualified perspective, given his international business achievements. Negotiating the release of a hostage was a different kettle of fish than securing a billion-dollar, multinational contract.

“The pipeline Papa designed is a major advantage for us.” Paris Industries had the largest fleet of oil supertankers in the world, and her father planned to head west with the pipeline so he could use a port in Namibia to transport Kanzi oil to the world.

“Chi will counter that they have a more direct route through Zimbabwe.” Nikos’s gaze was intense.

“Zimbabwe is an unstable country. As in Nigeria, they’ll experience rebel attacks on the pipeline,” she said.

“The Zimbabwean government recently purchased a large shipment of military hardware from China, including a thirteen-million-dollar radar system, six Hongdu JL-8 jet aircraft, twelve JF-17 Thunder combat aircraft, and a hundred other military vehicles. I’d say they are securely positioned.”

“Where did you get this information?” she asked. Her brother had a keen eye on African politics, but this was something else entirely.

“People talk. I wouldn’t be surprised if Quan had visited President Mugabe and promised him the pipeline if China wins the bid. This relationship could be profitable for Kanzi, Zimbabwe, and China.”

That made sense. China and Zimbabwe had a relationship dating back to the 1970s, during the period of the Rhodesian Bush War. Robert Mugabe had tried to garner Soviet support for his Zimbabwe African National Union, but the Kremlin—already supplying arms to Joshua Nkomo’s Zimbabwe African People’s Union—turned him down. Instead, Mugabe had partnered with Beijing. The relationship with China was vital to Zimbabwe; with Mugabe’s record of human rights violations, no other international player would endorse an official relationship with the African nation. As a result, hundreds of millions of Chinese investment dollars poured into the country.

“Time for the opening ceremonies. Hope you had plenty of coffee.” She gave Nikos a brief smile. Growing up, they’d lived in several African countries, and one key cultural difference between Americans and Africans rested in the way they perceived time. Monochronic Americans favored schedules, agendas, and detailed communication. Polychronic cultures such as Kanzi’s chose to start and end meetings spontaneously, address several issues simultaneously, take ad hoc breaks, and use an informal approach of dialogue and information flowing freely. They would have to expect the unexpected and roll with it.

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