Dictator

51

Moses Mabeki was obliged to go back in time before he dialled the number. He had to remember the young man he’d been a dozen years ago and hear in his head the voice with which he’d spoken to his fellow students at the London School of Economics; the confident, even cocky sound of a handsome, well-connected kid whose biggest social problem was sparing enough time from his studies to accommodate all the girls who wanted to get to know him. It had been a mask, an act, just like the dutiful, grateful facade he presented to Dick Stratten, or the big-brother friendship he had with Stratten’s son Andy. But that voice had served him well, and he needed to tap into it one more time.

‘Johnny Zen, my man,’ he drawled when he got through. ‘Wassup?’

‘Moses? Moses Mabeki?’ asked his former LSE contemporary Zheng Junjie before breaking into laughter. ‘Holy crap, it must be, what, ten years?’

‘More,’ agreed Mabeki. ‘Lot of water flowed under my bridge. Yours too, I bet.’

‘Well, you know how it is, man. You get a proper job. You get married, have kids. Suddenly you’re an old fart. But I’m not complaining. I develop commercial property, and business has been good. How about you?’

‘Well, I have no wife, no children. But no, I am not complaining.’

‘No wife, eh? Ha! Typical Moses, too many women to choose from, I bet! So, what can I do for you, bro?’

Zheng, too, was putting on a face, a variation of the one he presented to all non-Chinese. To his parents’ generation they were all barbarians, uncivilized peoples, and Africans like Moses Mabeki were barely human. Zheng did not share these prejudices remotely to the same extent – his generation, after all, coveted German cars, Italian designer clothes and Manhattan condominiums – but the innate sense of superiority remained, as did the absolute separation between the true self he reserved for his family and immediate community, and the face he presented to men like Moses Mabeki. They had been friends. There were aspects of Mabeki that Zheng respected, even envied. But they could never be equals.

In that respect, both men regarded each other in a very similar light. They were both intelligent enough to know it, too. Yet neither would ever let it get in the way of doing business to their mutual advantage.

‘You remember, years ago, how we made each other a promise, an exchange deal?’ Mabeki asked.

‘Uh-huh,’ grunted Zheng, noncommittally.

‘We talked about our families, that I was the descendant of a king of the Ndebele and that your family were very powerful Tanka people in Hong Kong. I said that if you were ever in southern Africa and you needed something – something you could not get by conventional means – I would use my connections to help you.’

‘Ye-e-e-s.’

‘And if I came to Hong Kong, then you would do the same for me. You remember?’

‘Of course. And I meant it.’

‘Well, I am in Hong Kong and I need that favour.’

‘I see. And what exactly is it that you need?’

‘I need you to buy something from me. I need you to provide fast, private transportation. And I need you to help me remove a personal difficulty – no, an irritant. In exchange for this favour, I will make you richer by approximately five million dollars.’

‘Excuse me for one moment. I have another call on the line. Just let me get rid of them.’

There was, of course, no other call. Zheng Junjie just needed time to think. If Mabeki was serious, and he suspected very strongly that he was, then this could be a chance to make his family a great deal of money and earn himself great face. On the other hand, it was clear that whatever Mabeki wanted could not be provided without the direct personal agreement of his uncle, known to all who knew him as Fisherman Zheng. He was a small, skinny, bald old man who ran a floating fish restaurant in Aberdeen harbour, on the south side of Hong Kong Island. He was also one of the richest, most powerful gangsters not just in Hong Kong, but all of southeast China. If the deal proved beneficial, Fisherman would be greatly pleased with his nephew. If it did not… well, that was not a possibility Zheng much cared to contemplate.

He got back on the line to Mabeki.

‘I think you should come and have dinner with my family. You will propose what you have in mind. I will translate for you and help you make your case. I cannot promise that the deal will be acceptable. What I am doing to honour my promise is to make the introduction. The rest is up to you. Do we have a deal?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then meet me tonight at the fish market in Aberdeen. My family have a business there. It is marked by a large sign for Zhen Fang Seafood. I will be there at ten o’clock. Come alone.’

‘See you then. And Johnny, there is something you should know. I have changed since you last saw me, changed a lot.’

Zheng laughed. ‘Oh, we’ve all changed, Moses.’

‘No,’ said Mabeki, ‘I can assure you, you have not changed like me.’