The Time I Built Highways in South America (3)
Converted into Korean won, the figure came to nearly thirty trillion. In the old days I would have keeled over backward with the report still in my hands. Now I didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow. There was nothing to be surprised about. San Marcos was a country that could shoulder a budget of that scale now. If anything, the construction costs had come in far lower than I'd expected.
"The construction budget appears to have been allocated quite efficiently."
An east-west highway cutting across San Marcos, a north-south trunk road linking the two coasts, and every feeder route branching off from them. Four thousand four hundred fifty kilometers of highway for twenty-three billion dollars. That was practically a steal. And the contract even included building farms along the roadsides. There were several reasons it had come in this cheap, but if I had to pick one...
"It is thanks to the low cost of labor."
"Yes, that does seem to be the case."
Tortilla Farm paid four hundred dollars a month. Tortilla Seafood, three hundred eighty. Tortilla Energy, four hundred thirty. Civil servants, three hundred sixty. Looking at those figures alone, the average San Marcos worker earned about four hundred dollars a month. The reality was different. Those wages were an artificial floor the government had manufactured. The actual average for a San Marcos laborer sat a shade under three hundred a month. And I had set the highway workers' pay at three hundred dollars.
Sorry, but... it can't be helped.
Because the real value of this highway project wasn't the highway itself. It was a jobs program. The total wages those people would collect over two years and six months came to 8.4 billion dollars — half of San Marcos's GDP from three years ago. Of course, ten percent of the labor expenditure would flow back into the treasury as income tax, but for a country of San Marcos's size, this was a sum that demanded you worry about inflation.
"The other line items besides labor also seem to have been priced quite low."
"Everyone worked with particular diligence because Your Excellency takes such a personal interest. That is what made it possible."
"I'd say it's also thanks to the Chief of Staff's idea."
Isabella smiled modestly. To drive down construction costs, Isabella and the senior staff had pulled all-nighters in meeting after meeting. And the most effective idea among them had been the self-sufficiency system she herself had proposed.
"It was an idea anyone could have thought of."
Need aggregate? Crush it on-site and use it. Need gravel and sand? Scoop them from the riverbed. Most countries wouldn't dare try it for environmental reasons, but in San Marcos — a developing country among developing countries — environmental conservation was so much pie in the sky.
You protect the environment when your belly is full and your back is warm.
Right now, people come before nature, don't they?
"What's the financing plan?"
Isabella launched into her explanation with a look of complete confidence.
"Of the ten-billion-dollar advance, three billion will be received from the Korean government as a loan in the form of ODA — Official Development Assistance. The interest rate is 1.5 percent per annum."
"Hmm."
My head nodded of its own accord at the endlessly warm decision of the motherland. Not that Korea was taking a loss. Korean construction firms were participating in this highway project in droves. From Seoul's perspective, they had a ready-made justification — helping their own companies win contracts — so they had approved it without hesitation.
"The remaining seven billion dollars will be paid out of the U.S. Treasury bonds we purchased in advance."
"And the rest of the costs?"
"The remaining thirteen billion, excluding the advance, will be disbursed in five installments, once every six months."
"The funding source will be the crude oil revenue from Drumpf Field, I assume?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"Three billion every six months... We'll have to tighten our belts for a while."
"Nickel mine revenues are coming in, so it should not be too great a strain. If we are truly short, we can always borrow Tortilla Company's retained earnings interest-free."
"Hmm."
A perfect financing plan. It felt like puzzle pieces clicking into place.
"Good. Excellent work."
I closed the report with a satisfied smile.
"Now all that's left is... the training."
Numbers meant nothing if they were a rabble. With eight hundred thousand workers going into this project, they had to move with military precision or there would be accidents. Which was why we had prepared construction training run by the Engineer Battalion.
"Field Marshal Pedro is currently making every preparation."
"He'll handle it, I assume?"
"Of course. They have never taken on a mega-project on the scale of a highway, but the San Marcos Engineer Corps was, for all practical purposes, this country's only construction company."
Isabella nodded and added,
"In particular, the Engineer Battalion commander overseeing this training graduated at the top of his class from the civil engineering program at Mexico's National Polytechnic Institute. He is an elite. The officials from the Ministry of Construction and Housing have even completed live-in training in order to provide support."
"That's reassuring."
In this country, credentials like that were as good as it got.
"Let's get started immediately."
"I shall issue the order at once."
Isabella left the office. I looked out the window at the panorama of Libertad.
"Hah... There really is never a quiet day."
While Eugene was conferring with Isabella, a storm of irate villagers was tearing through a rural administrative outpost hundreds of kilometers south of Libertad.
"What the hell is this supposed to mean?!"
The fist that came down on the outpost's battered wooden desk belonged to Joseph, a native of the village. Sun-blackened skin, thick forearms — a typical San Marcos farmer who had spent his entire life digging in the dirt.
"Please calm down, Joseph. Carrying on like this isn't going to produce any land..."
"Calm down? Calm the hell down? You said you'd give us land! You said if we put our names on the national register we'd get land! So why the hell aren't you giving it to us?!"
And it wasn't just Joseph. Dozens of villagers had crowded in behind him, staging what could only loosely be called a protest.
"You said if we got those national ID cards or whatever, you'd lend us good farmland!"
"It's been three months already! Three months! We haven't seen so much as a handful of dirt, let alone land!"
The outpost clerks wrung their hands before the furious crowd. They were, after all, the very people who had talked everyone into registering by promising a share of land. In the end, Joseph and his complaint brigade took to showing up at the outpost every single day to raise hell. They rotated through morning, noon, and evening, and the clerks were at their wits' end.
It was in the middle of the usual shouting that it happened.
A truck creaked to a stop in front of the outpost. Two men in immaculate uniforms climbed down and walked toward the crowd.
Joseph, who had been in full rant, faltered. The presence these two carried was nothing like the powerless junior clerks he was used to. You could tell at a glance they were somebody important. The man who walked up to Joseph's side was...
"Well now, if it isn't His Excellency's people, all gathered in one place. How do you do, everyone? Hahaha."
He beamed a thoroughly friendly smile, seized the protesters' hands, and pumped them vigorously.
"W-who...?"
"Ah, I've been remiss with the introductions. I'm Jose Dariya, Section Chief of Road Management at the Ministry of Construction and Housing."
He distributed his business cards among the crowd.
"The reason I've come all this way is to bring you a gift."
"A-a gift? You finally givin' us the land?"
The man shook his head.
"The land is going to take a little more time... but I've brought something else instead."
"Something else? What would that be?"
"An opportunity."
"Opportunity? What kind of nonsense is—"
"Now, now! This isn't the kind of opportunity that comes around every day."
The official drew a crisp bundle of papers from his coat.
"An opportunity to make a great deal of money."
At the word money, every gaze in the room snapped toward him.
"Friends, even if you receive land, it doesn't turn into cash overnight, does it? You have to farm it, harvest it, haul it to market, and sell it before you see a single coin. Isn't that right?"
"W-well, that's true enough."
"Then what do you do in the meantime? You all have families to look after."
"Same as now, I guess — we dig and we scrape by..."
"Tsk, tsk. What age do you think this is, to be living like that? His Excellency would be heartbroken."
The Ministry's star recruiter wagged a finger left and right.
"His Excellency has issued a special directive. He wants jobs provided to you, his people."
"Jobs...?"
"Roads will soon be built in every corner of the country. Come work on them, and you can earn three hundred dollars a month."
Everyone startled at a figure larger than they had expected. And no wonder — in the provinces, three hundred dollars was a genuine fortune. Unlike the urban laborers of Libertad, these people's annual income didn't even reach five hundred dollars. And now they could earn three hundred every month? That was enough to buy seven hundred kilograms of flour.
"Of course, you can't simply show up and start working. To join the project, you will need to complete two weeks of training conducted by the state."
A round of figures as much rippled through the crowd.
"Listen here, mister official, I don't think you understand. Most of the people in this room live day to day. If we go two weeks without working, our families starve. That's the truth of it."
"Come now, you think I'd travel all this way without knowing that?"
The official held up two fingers.
"Simply for completing the two weeks of training, we will pay you a stipend of one hundred dollars. That should be more than enough to keep your families fed, no?"
Silence fell over the outpost. Disbelief rose in every pair of eyes. The very concept of a training stipend did not exist in San Marcos.
"Now, now! I see the devil of doubt in your eyes. You have to trust me. Would I dare tell a lie in His Excellency's name?"
The atmosphere loosened, if only a little, at the mention of His Excellency. The official drove the point home.
"Apply now and we'll process you on the spot. The sooner you apply, the sooner you receive the training. And of course, the sooner you can start working, yes?"
"Do we... get meals, too?"
"But of course. Three meals a day — tortillas with a meat topping."
Joseph's breath caught. In that instant, the ferocity drained from his face like spring snow melting in the sun.
"I'll do it."
He flung the straw hat from his head and clasped both hands primly over his navel.
"Might I... dare to sign the papers?"