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

The handshaking went on, as was traditional.

‘You speak excellent Arabic,’ Yusuf said, in English.

‘And you speak excellent English.’

Finally, Yusuf relinquished his grip on Gabriel’s hand. He looked over his shoulder and nodded perfunctorily at Jiàntán.

‘Let us keep to English, Gabriel. It is the international language of business, is it not?’

Gabriel nodded.

‘It is, but I am happy to speak in Arabic if that would be easier for you, Yusuf.’

Yusuf’s eyes widened.

‘No! Not at all. I speak English with my clients in Hong Kong. It is good to practise, yes?’

Gabriel smiled.

‘Agreed. Mr Cho sends his regards.’

‘Please return mine to him when you next see him. He is well?’

‘Yes, as far as I could see, he enjoys good health.’

‘That is good, that is good,’ Yusuf said. ‘Come, you must be thirsty. I have prepared refreshments in my office.’

He reached down and took Gabriel’s hand in his and led him, companionably, along one side of the factory, to a partitioned-off corner.

‘Wait outside,’ Yusuf barked at Jiàntán.

The office was blissfully cool after the unpleasant warmth of the main processing area. A low mosaic-topped coffee table occupied most of one side. Its multi-coloured tiled surface was covered with small silver and brass dishes. Each contained a different sweetmeat.

Gabriel saw deep-fried falafel the size of golf balls, filo pastry tubes from which fragrant lamb and mint poked out at either end. Olives, black and green, and swimming in a reddish oil. Flatbreads, their upper surfaces pocked with black bubbles from the oven. Dishes of baba ganoush and hummus, the smells of charred aubergine and garlicky chickpeas rising from the little bowls and making Gabriel’s mouth water.

A silver pot steamed on a second table and, beside it, glass cups in silver cages stood ready, laden with fresh mint leaves.

Yusuf swept a hand wide over the table.

‘Eat! Eat! Whatever you like. Mint tea?’

‘Yes please. That would be lovely,’ Gabriel said. The roadside sandwich he’d eaten earlier felt like an age ago.

Yusuf beamed, took one of the low armchairs and watched intently as Gabriel scooped up some hummus on a triangle of flatbread.

‘It is acceptable?’ he asked, his forehead creasing. ‘We get it from a restaurant up the road. They are not the best, but they are the nearest.’

‘It’s wonderful,’ Gabriel said, and he meant it. The dip was creamy and spiked not just with garlic but a pinch of chilli.

Yusuf poured boiling water into two glasses, pushed one towards Gabriel and took one for himself.

The smell of fresh mint coiled its way into Gabriel’s nostrils and from there to his brain, stimulating memories of his parents’ herb garden at the trade mission house in Hong Kong.

‘Mr Cho said only that I should make you welcome, Gabriel,’ Yusuf said, waiting until Gabriel had taken a sip of the mint tea and set his glass down. ‘Nothing more. How may I be of service to you?’

‘First of all, I would like to give you this,’ Gabriel said, retrieving a small wrapped parcel from his jacket pocket.

He handed it to Yusuf, who took it reverentially in both hands. He looked up at Gabriel and smiled.

‘It is rare to find someone who takes so much time and trouble to observe the correct behaviour, Gabriel,’ he said. ‘Most are all about this,’ he added, rubbing the pads of thumb and forefinger together.

Gabriel inclined his head.

‘I am a guest in your country, and your factory. Please, open it.’

With delicate movements that belied his stubby fingers, Yusuf unwrapped the gold tissue paper. As he spread the corners of the sheets open on his palm he inhaled softly.

He plucked out a small jade carving of a salmon leaping. Gabriel had bought it in Hong Kong’s jade market the day he left for Dubai.

‘I hope you like it,’ Gabriel said. ‘As you run an ivory-carving workshop I thought you might appreciate the artistry.’

Yusuf looked up. His eyes were glistening behind his glasses.

‘This is beautiful. Thank you. You are a collector of netsuke yourself?’

‘I was left a small collection, but I haven’t added to it.’

Yusuf stood and placed the little green salmon on a shelf beside an intricately worked carving of an elephant inside whose latticed sides a baby elephant stood.

He returned to his chair.

‘Tell me, Gabriel, what brought you to my humble factory?’

‘Some poachers in Africa murdered a group of British and Botswanan soldiers. Ivory poachers. I have been charged with bringing them to justice. I need to find out who was responsible for the massacre.’

Yusuf’s face, so full of pleasure only moments earlier, clouded over.

‘Ah, Gabriel, I wish I could help you. And, believe me, I am sorry for the loss of your comrades’ lives. But I do not know any poachers. All our ivory comes in by way of Vientiane.’

Gabriel frowned.

‘So, nobody up the supply chain ever comes here? You don’t deal directly?’

Yusuf shook his head, making his red-and-white ghutrah sway against his round cheeks.

‘I am sorry, my friend.’

Gabriel tried not to let his disappointment – or his suspicion – show. He wanted to push as hard as he could. Surely a factory manager would know who was supplying his raw materials, Laotian market or not?

‘And you’ve never heard whispers about the ultimate supplier for your ivory?’

Only now did a flicker of irritation disrupt Yusuf’s previous genial expression.

‘It is like I said, Gabriel. No. I order tusks from my contact in Vientiane. He arranges to buy it and ships it here.’

Gabriel finished his mint tea and placed the glass down on a few clear square inches of mosaic with a hard little clink.

‘Three British soldiers were murdered, Yusuf. The people I work for will not stop until their deaths have been avenged. Not just the killers but anyone who helped them. Do not put yourself in harm’s way to protect these men.’

Yusuf spread his hands wide.

‘Gabriel, even if I did know these poachers, why would I tell you their names? You will kill them and cut off my supply. I am a businessman. I need to protect my livelihood. I have a family to provide