Ivory Nation, Andy Maslen [e manga reader .txt] 📗

The slang term for a westerner could have been an insult, but Gabriel dipped his head a second time, acknowledging his outsider status.

‘I am pleased to meet you, Sir,’ he said in Cantonese. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’

They sat. Mei produced drinks.

‘You are interested in ivory?’ Cho asked.

‘In the people who poach it. Who kill for it.’

Gabriel sketched in the details of the operation to capture the poachers. When he’d finished, Cho stroked his chin with a liver-spotted hand.

‘The Four-Point Star controls the ivory trade into China. Also Singapore, Thailand and Japan. But we are just importers here. We also own a factory in the United Arab Emirates. They process the raw material, which comes in from Africa via a market in Vientiane. You know it?’

‘Laos, yes,’ Gabriel said.

Cho nodded, agitating the wispy white hairs above his ears.

‘Globalisation,’ he said, smiling to reveal crooked brown teeth. ‘Not just good for car makers and drug companies, eh?’

‘Can you permit me to visit your factory in the UAE?’

Cho glanced at Mei. Gabriel saw his pale eyebrows lift fractionally. I can trust your brother? they said.

‘Gabriel is discreet,’ she said. ‘I give you my word he will breathe nothing of what he sees. Also, I will be in your debt. You know my plans for the WK. Maybe we can find a way to divest some of our holdings to your control.’

‘Mister Cho,’ Gabriel said. ‘What my sister says about my discretion is true. Other people may wish to pursue your operations. I only wish to avenge my fallen brothers. You knew my mentor, perhaps. Zhao Xi?’

Cho nodded.

‘Everyone in Hong Kong knew Xi. He was a fine man.’

Gabriel placed his right palm over his heart.

‘I swear on his memory, and that of all my ancestors, that I will say nothing of what I see.’

Cho interlaced his fingers in his lap. He straightened his back.

‘The manager is a man named Yusuf. I will email him to tell him you are coming. I accept your promises and your oath. But I will also send you with one of my men. It will remove the need for,’ he unlaced his fingers and waggled his hand in a seesaw motion, ‘additional security measures. You are happy with this?’

‘I am. And thank you.’

Gabriel took the window seat on the Cathay Pacific flight to Dubai. He yawned: his body clock was still set to Gaborone time. The presence of a thickset Four-Point Star minder to his right, reeking of garlic, did nothing to prevent his falling into a deep sleep as the Airbus A330-300 left the tarmac, climbed and banked into a crystalline-blue sky.

Nine hours later, a stewardess leaned across the burly minder and touched Gabriel lightly on the shoulder to wake him before landing.

30

GABORONE

Mid-morning, and Eli and Stella were sitting at a roadside fruit stand just a few yards down Chuma Drive from the resort. In front of them, on a table constructed from upturned wooden crates sat two big bowls of fruit salad: mangosteen, melon and a soft-fleshed, aromatic fruit the female vendor had called ‘Mama’s Kiss’.

Apart from the occasional truck loaded with timber or battered blue oil drums, the road was quiet at this time of the morning.

A young boy, eight or nine, strolled past on the far side of the asphalt. In front of him, a fat-bellied goat ambled along, kept moving by the boy’s insistent application of a stick to its hindquarters. The boy waved to them as he passed.

‘Good morning!’ he called out in English, beaming them a thousand-watt smile. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine!’ Eli called back. ‘How are you?’

He stopped, and his grin widened.

‘I am fine! How are you?’

Eli smiled.

‘I am fine! How are you?’

‘I am fine! How are you?’

Feeling the game could continue indefinitely, she changed tack.

‘My name’s Eli. What’s yours?’ she called out.

‘I am Abednigo Tsonga. I will be best football player in all Africa!’

‘Good luck!”

He smiled once more, switched the goat across its backside, and waved over his shoulder as he walked away.

‘Nice to be so untroubled,’ Stella said. ‘He’s got his goat, his dream. Lives in this beautiful country.’

‘You sound envious.’

Stella shrugged.

‘He looked happy. I wouldn’t mind that sort of simplicity in my life.’

‘You’d be bored inside a week.’

Stella wrinkled her nose.

‘I think you’re right. I just wish you weren’t.’

‘Life can’t be too bad, can it? Hey! I just realised. All I know about you is the work stuff. You’re this kind of super-cop who punched a serial killer’s ticket. What about who you are as a woman?’

Stella smiled and scooped another spoonful of Mama’s Kiss into her mouth. A squirt of juice escaped her lips and she rolled her eyes as she wiped it from her chin.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘I don’t know. Your story. What made you who you are today?’

Eli saw a cloud flit across Stella’s face. Damn! Have I just trodden on something fragile?

‘Until a few years ago, I would have said my story was pretty conventional,’ Stella said. ‘School, university, teaching, then I joined the police. Fast track to detective inspector. Great things expected of me.’

‘Something happened, didn’t it?’

‘You could say that.’

Eli reached over and placed her hand over that of the woman she realised she wanted as a friend.

‘Stella, if you don’t want to talk about this, it’s fine. I just go charging in where angels fear to tread. Always have.’

Stella shook her head and smiled at Eli.

‘No, it’s fine. And call me Stel. My other friends do.’

Eli smiled, feeling a flush of pleasure. Here was someone she could relate to, the first woman in England with whom she’d made that connection.

‘Stel it is, then.’

Stella inhaled sharply. Looked up and down the road even though they were alone, apart from the fruit stand lady, who was snoozing under a wide pink, yellow and green beach umbrella.

‘I guess with what you and Gabriel do for a living I’m safe saying this, but I’ve killed more people than Mim Robey. A lot more. Sometimes I get the