For readers tired of spies, doctors, cops, investigators and lawyers as mystery heroes, how about a banker? Make that a banker-philosopher. And with most international thrillers set in Europe, Asia and the United States, how about a less traveled place like South America? Here is a drama about the ramifications of high-finance high jinks, with a murder or two tossed in, a kidnapping, and a lot of interesting details about an area too few people north of the equator know much about. Plus, you’ll meet some of the people on the cutting edge of the global economy.

This book is a must for people of any age that may be thinking about or embarking on international careers. Besides being an absorbing story, it is packed with lore on overseas life, making it educational as well as entertaining. Further, for those with an interest in money, it offers an inside look at a lot of the modus operandi of international finance.

The author graduated from Amherst College and Harvard Law School, served as an officer in the United States Navy in the Pacific during World War II, and practiced law for several years in Pennsylvania. He then embarked on an international financial career, and for over forty years lived and worked in more than thirty different countries, representing several United States banks and consulting firms. He now lives in Arizona. He recently published a well-received non-fiction book, Money in the Global Economy, about the role money plays in the international exchanges of goods, capital, information and people.

The night flight from New York City to Sao Paulo, Brazil, is an uncomfortable ten hours, with dinner served after midnight and breakfast a few hours later. Yesterday's newscasts and an occasional good movie are thrown in for passengers who can't sleep, even after free martinis and California wines. The aircraft do not point directly for the equator, as might be expected, but head, surprisingly for first-time travelers, in an easterly direction. Most of South America is not below North America; it lies towards Africa. A line straight down the globe from New York City ends in the Pacific Ocean. Therefore, planes take a southeast zigzag to stay in flight paths tied to scattered control towers and emergency landing fields. A further geographic surprise is that close to half of the flight is over Brazilian territory, a fact which should be expected for a country a bit larger than the continental United States, with Sao Paulo down in the southern end, just inland from the Atlantic coast.

But my thoughts were not about geography as I settled into a spacious business class seat on the flight to Brazil. Yesterday morning seemed a month away. Only yesterday. It seemed at least a week. Unlike my usual practice, I had arrived early at my small office on Atlas Bank's 18th floor. With a plastic cup of coffee in hand I had slumped into my rotating chair and moved my eyes lazily over the small stack of correspondence and overnight messages on the large desk in front of me. I had taken a sip of the hot drink and then looked out to the sliver of a bright spring sky not blocked by the massive glass and aluminum building across the way. But my gaze had suddenly been drawn back to the dispatches. The paper on top jolted something in my memory. Instead of the usual machine produced text, this was a hand-scrawled fax marked "urgent" in large capital letters. Many communications received at the Bank carry the word ‘urgent’, but this was written by a vaguely familiar hand using a heavy brush pen.

"Dear Mr. Reynolds - Tony Dubois died in his bed last night. Margaret wants orientation from you.

Please call her. She is at home now......Flora."

I had abruptly jerked back in my chair, banging into the credenza behind me. I think that I am a fairly controlled person, but Tony Dubois was one of my best friends. For the past eight years we had worked together, jogged together, whacked tennis balls at each other, and solved many of the worlds problems over drinks. My eyes began to water, something rare in my busy life. I was in my banker's navy pinstripe, and several tears dropped from my cheek, putting spots on my lapel. I checked the open doorway and was satisfied that no one was watching.

Flora is Flora Orsini, the office manager of Atlas Bank's representative office in Sao Paulo, and Tony Dubois was the bank's representative in Brazil. The fax had been sent a bit less than an hour before, and since Sao Paulo at this time of year is three hours ahead of New York, it was 11:00 there. Tony's wife, Margaret, was waiting my call.

For some unconscious reason I had risen slowly, feeling the need to be standing when I talked to Margaret. My telephone had been knocked out of place when I hit the credenza, so that I had to reach for it at an unfamiliar angle. Unsteadily I punch-dialed the Dubois home, and in a few seconds Margaret answered in a subdued tone.

"Oh, Peter. I'm so glad to hear from you. I would have called you immediately, but I couldn't find your apartment phone number. I have it somewhere, but I'm quite confused."

"Margaret, I can't believe this! I am so sorry... But Tony was in perfect health!" I was now fully alert and almost yelling, despite the usual, clear connection to Brazil. "Tell me what happened."

"We haven't the slightest idea. At least I haven't. When I woke up early this morning...always wake up at first light...there he was...beside me... dead!... I thought I was a tough Yankee... but honestly, Peter..." She began to cry softly.

I had to wait a few moments. Tony was the first close friend of mine to die. I couldn't accept it. We were too young. Was he really dead? My stomach began to churn, a very unfamiliar feeling. I began slowly, trying to reflect a calm I didn't feel. "Listen, Margaret. Has a doctor been there yet? Is there a chance he’s still alive?"

She replied softly and with hesitation. "No...No. He is dead. But I called the Menezes Clinic right away. It was so early, only a nurse was on duty. She promised to contact Doctor Menotti...you remember him, our family doctor...you introduced us."

She stopped, and I waited. "I was terribly confused about the kids. Send them off to school or have them here with the doctor. I finally got them off...before the doctor came. Told them that Tony was sleeping in... Maybe that was wrong. Well, Menotti has just been here. He did whatever you do in these cases. He took quite a long time. When he came out of the room he had a dubious expression on his face. But he immediately filled out a death certificate. I've got it right in my hand." Again she began to sob.

I had slowly eased myself back into the chair beneath me. But my mind was racing. The empty realization of my own loss was accentuated by concern for what Margaret would go through during the next 24 hours. The law in Brazil did not permit any dillydallying regarding death. When I had been the boss at the Sao Paulo Office two years before, one of my young financial analysts had died. Since he had no relatives except an incompetent mother, I had handled his funeral arrangements. So I knew the ropes a little and wanted to help. Again I spoke as calmly and reassuringly as I could, but probably not too effectively. "I'm pretty sure I can tell you what you have to do. But first, what did Dr. Menotti say? What was the cause of death?"

"Well, he says it was a heart attack, but I could tell he was not happy with that. In fact, he admitted there could be other factors involved. But you know that when a person dies here, everything has to be done so fast! Since Tony died in his sleep, Menotti signed off on the heart attack."

I tried to gather my thoughts. I remembered clearly the experience with the analyst. Fortunately, what she had to do was in fact quite simple. "Okay, Margaret. You must do a few things rather quickly. And frankly, I would get the kids back from school.

The quiet, early morning atmosphere of my simple office began to have its effect. "But first...I almost forgot...to put your mind at rest, the Bank will cover all your expenses for some time. Don't worry. It will pay for shipping Tony's..." I had almost said 'dead body'..."back to the States. Here's what you've got to do....."

Margaret interrupted vigorously, voice still cracking, "No, Peter. I'm not shipping Tony's body anywhere! That's just so damn primitive and ignorant! Plus...think of all the bureaucracy at both ends...and the useless expenses. For what? I've already decided on cremation and taking the ashes back to Northampton. And no church service or ceremony."

She paused and then plunged ahead. "Tony and I discussed exactly this kind of situation. After all, we have been abroad for some time. Long ago we agreed that if anything should happen to either of us overseas, cremation would be in order. "I'll move back to Massachusetts to live near my mother Which we also discussed. Remember, his family lives close by."

This unexpected, forceful lecture impressed and relieved me considerably. This lady was keeping her marbles. So I resumed my interrupted explanation. "Flora probably told you already that there are no funeral parlors in the usual sense in Sao Paulo. The city took over that function long ago...I guess to avoid the corruption that exists in a lot of places in that business. You'll find it hard to believe, but it's the most well-managed and inexpensive enterprise in your fairly mismanaged city. You'll see. Flora and I handled a burial when one of our analysts was killed in an auto accident a few years ago."