Chapter 13: Bad Visa Case

THE THING WITH the minister’s grandson Victor blew up in my face the following week. The minister didn’t tell me himself, of course. Instead the ambassador got a call from the minister’s senior aide. That the call didn’t come from the minister put the ambassador in an extra-sour mood when he summoned me through Tootsie.

She gave me what I interpreted to be a sympathetic look as I entered the anteroom.

“Go on in, Michael, he’s expecting you.”

The ambassador put down the phone when I entered his office. To my surprise, he invited me to sit. It came out as more of an order than a courtesy, but I ignored the tone and sat.

The ambassador rubbed his face in apparent exhaustion before he spoke.

“Michael, I apologize for what I said when we last talked about that visa case the minister was interested in. I should not have put it the way I did.”

I nodded.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I also appreciate what you did to facilitate his application.”

I waited for the other shoe or shoes to drop.

“The trouble is, the company in the U.S., which is run by a relative of the minister, although he wasn’t very clear on who it was or what the relationship is exactly, does not wish to apply for a work visa for the minister’s grandson.”

He rubbed his face again.

“The minister is not happy about this Michael, not happy at all.” He paused. “So my question to you, Michael, is what can we do for this kid?”

The ambassador’s approach today was at such odds from our encounter last time I was tempted to tell him I’d issue the damn visa, but even as it crossed my mind I realized that to do so was to abrogate everything I’d said in our earlier meeting.

“Mr. Ambassador, is there any way to get an idea of what the company’s problem is? I don’t mean to pry, sir, but do you have any indication of what is behind this?”

As I spoke I realized the likely problem. It was twofold. First, the whole thing was a scam, a dodge to get the kid to the U.S. as a favor to the minister. The company had no intention of employing him and couldn’t care less what he did or where he went once he was admitted. Maybe they’d give him some kind of sham job if the point was to get him to the headquarters city itself, but employment or any real responsibility had nothing to do with the purpose of the trip.

Second, on the off chance the kid actually did have a skill the company wanted, with the heightened scrutiny on the whole “highly qualified” class of visas and on the issue of foreign workers, the company doubted his application would pass muster because even if he had skills they were not good enough to meet the “highly qualified” standard.

A shake of his head was the ambassador’s answer to my question.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

He looked at me silently for a moment.

“Granted, Michael.”

He laughed.

“This isn’t the Army, Michael.”

Like hell, I thought.

“Yes, sir.”

I explained in summary fashion my two theories of the company’s motives.

“I don’t know any of this for sure, Mr. Ambassador,” I finished up. “It’s possible there’s something else entirely, or perhaps even the relationship isn’t quite as close as the minister’s personal interest might have made it appear.”

I had his attention.

“Sir, I don’t have a good solution, I should tell you that at the outset. The visa cannot be issued, that’s the truth of the matter. Even if we had some wiggle room, namely, no letter offering the young man employment, it’s a questionable case, but perhaps one I could work with.”

This was the hard part.

“So even were I to issue the visa, he wouldn’t get past the arrival inspections. The trip would be in vain, the kid would be unhappy, and the minister wouldn’t be pleased.”

And the million-dollar sentence.

“Sir, forgive me, I don’t know the minister’s motives, but this is a bad case, it’s not one we can solve by issuing a visa. I’m sticking my neck out here, but I think the minister will survive being told ‘No’ this time.”

The ambassador sighed.

“Thanks, Michael. Believe it or not I appreciate your candor.”

He sighed again.

“But it’s not good enough.”

I suppressed my urge to tell him it would have to be good enough. The question was whether to tell him the rest of it.

I swim at the Club Atlético, the Athletic Club, downtown. It has the only decent fifty-meter pool in the central business district. If you show up regularly you get known in the swimming group, if only by sight, and I got along pretty well with everybody.

I’ve forgotten how it started, probably something to do with swimming and workout strategies, but I’d ended up talking regularly to a guy about my age. It turned out he was a mid-level prosecutor in the office of the local equivalent of the district attorney for the city and some of the surrounding zones. I really can’t remember the chain of comments or conversations that led us to sex crimes. They’re as big a flash point and object of public rage here as they are back home, and there’d been three or four well-publicized cases in just the last year.