False Nine

by Philip Kerr

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s my opinion that to walk away from this would be like turning your back on the future.’

  ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you’re guessing.’

  ‘Call it intuition. Look, Scott, one of the reasons I was hired by you was so that I might have an opportunity in an almost exclusively male world. That means you have to accept that I’m going to think outside the box. I also have to tell you that I need to make a living and if I’m going to represent you I have to remind you that right now I’m earning ten per cent of nothing. So, please. Give this a chance.’ She picked up my hand and kissed it fondly. “And do try to cheer up, Scott. Smile. Things will get better, I’m sure of it.”

  ‘All right. And you’re pobably right. I’ll go.’

  ‘And when you get there don’t talk yourself out of a job, the way you did in Paris. Try not to be so very honest. The current team manager, Nicola Salieri, has already resigned. Mr Jia seems to have a high opinion of you.All you have to do is go to the match and listen to what he has to say.’

  Mr Jia met me in a luxurious private box at the thirty thousand capacity Yu Garden stadium where Shanghai Xuhui – wearing a blue and red home strip that looked suspiciously like Barcelona’s – were hosting Guangzhou Evergrande. He was a handsome man in his early thirties with Michael Caine glasses, an American accent, a diamond-encrusted watch as big as the Queen’s coronation crown and, in the lapel of his suit, a little Chinese flag. We were carefully attended by eight beautiful Chinese girls wearing smiles that were bigger than their little black minidresses. They poured our drinks, fetched us food, lit Mr Jia’s endless cigarettes and took care of his large and almost continual in-play bets. He drank Krug champagne – all the time, it seemed, and not I thought because he liked it but because it was the most expensive. I restricted myself to Chinese beer – Tsingtao – because I liked it and because I wanted to keep a clearish head for business and the game in hand. But in truth we were so high above the pitch it was difficult to follow the match. The player names on the shirts were yellow and in Chinese and while they also had numbers, the programme was in Chinese too, so I had little or no idea of who was who.

  ‘You like Shanghai?’ he asked. ‘Your hotel room? Everything is to your liking?’

  ‘Yes, everything is great, Mr Jia.’

  ‘I want you to like it here. This is the future, Mr Manson. It’s impossible to be here and not to think so, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Wasn’t it Confucius who said that prophecy is always difficult – especially when it’s a prophecy about the future?’

  Mr Jia laughed. ‘You know Confucius? That is good. Not many managers can quote Confucius. Even in China.’

  I shrugged, modestly. I had an idea that there were many famous names who were alleged to have coined this saying, among them Confucius, but I had no wish to insult Mr Jia by suggesting that this was now the kind of quotation that could be found inside any Christmas cracker.

  ‘I was very much an admirer of London City,’ he continued.

  ‘Me, too. Still am.’

  ‘Of João Zarco and yourself. I tell you honestly that if Mr Zarco had still been alive it might have been him who was sitting here now.’

  ‘Zarco was the best manager in Europe,’ I said. ‘If not the world.’

  ‘This is my opinion also,’ said Jia. ‘But I also think that you are the next best thing. That if you had stayed at London City you would have achieved greatness. Of course it might turn out that their loss could be my gain.’

  Mr Jia allowed one of the hostess girls to refill his glass. While she did so his hand drifted up her skirt and stayed there for a moment but she did not flinch and the smile remained fixed on her face. Evidently she was used to this Game of Thrones style behaviour. And I got the feeling that she would not have blinked an eye if I had copied his behaviour and done the same. But my hands stayed wrapped around my beer glass.

  ‘I heard a strong rumour that your departure from City had something to do with a foreign betting syndicate,’ he said. ‘That you discovered that the death of Bekim Develi in Athens was connected with an in-play bet made in Russia. Oh, it’s all right, I’m not asking you to confirm this rumour. This is common knowledge here in China. I like to bet myself – all Chinese people like to gamble – but I make it a rule never to bet on my own team. The bets you’ve seen me making are all on other matches taking place this afternoon. Principally the match between our principal rival, Shanghai Shenhua and Beijing Guoan. I tell you this so that you will know that I am not a crook. I am, however, very rich and what else can you do with money but spend it? I have a million yuan riding on the result of that match; this is about a hundred thousand pounds. But there’s nothing to stop you betting on Nine Dragons, Mr Manson. Or for that matter on these dogs from Guangzhou Evergrande. Although I wouldn’t recommend it. They are without their best player – Arturo. The Brazilian? Shanghai Xuhui Nine Dragons will almost certainly beat the Greens this afternoon.’

  ‘Why nine dragons?’ I asked, changing the subject. ‘Why not seven or eight? Or even ten?’

  ‘Nine has the same pronunciation as a word which means everlasting and so this is a very lucky number in Chinese,’ he explained. He kept on watching the match while he spoke, the match reflecting like tiny televisions in his glasses. ‘Many Chinese emperors liked the number a lot. They wore nine dragon imperial robes, and built nine dragon palace walls. In the Forbidden City you will find the number nine affects almost everything. The number nine and its multiples are also liked by ordinary Chinese people. On Valentine’s Day a Chinese man will present his lover with ninety-nine red roses to symbolise eternal love. Really there’s no end to the fascination we Chinese have with the number nine. I even have a number nine tattooed on my back. Just so that my wife really knows it’s me. When I bought this team I wanted to emphasise great power and hope for the future. Which is where the number nine and you come in, Mr Manson. I have great plans for the future of this football club and the Chinese Super League.

  ‘But these are as nothing beside the plans I have for English football. It is my intention to buy a famous club sometime in the next twelve months. I regret I cannot say more at this stage. But this club was once at the top of the old English First Division and it is my wish to make it so again. To that end I will need the help of a man such as yourself. We can do great things, you and I. I hope we can make a deal while you are in Shanghai. When you do there will be a signing fee of one million pounds. We will have two contracts – one with Shanghai Xuhui and one with the Nine Dragons Mining Company. This is called a Yin Yang contract and it is the way things are done in China. The contract with Nine Dragons will be the more lucrative but between them these contracts will pay you £200,000 a week. I also propose that you start work in two weeks’ time. You can stay in the Chairman’s Suite at the Grand Hyatt at my own personal expense. It can be your home while you are in Shanghai. This will also be in the contract.’

  ‘Two hundred thousand pounds a week is a lot of money,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Almost ten million pounds a year. This would make you the highest paid manager in the world. This also is a statement of my intent. The biggest club in the world should also have the highest paid manager. Of course you would not have to pay tax on this money. Chinese tax rates on foreigners are forty-five per cent. But since your country has a double taxation treaty with China you may work here for 183 days before you would pay tax. Which means that if you stay we will also make a contract for 182 days in this country. And then for 182 days in the UK. This way you will pay absolutely no tax at all.’

  ‘I don’t mind paying a fair amount of tax,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but what is fair?’ Mr Jia laughed, a heavy smoker’s laugh that sounded like someone trying to start an old car. ‘That’s the four and a half million pound question, isn’t it? At least it is in this case. Certainly there’s not a government in the world wher
e some of the people don’t say that they pay too much tax.’

  ‘Look, before we talk about such matters hadn’t we better talk about football?’

  ‘What, more words about football? Or have you had some sort of revelation about the game since last you spoke about it? On the BBC’s Match of the Day, was it not?’

  ‘I said a lot of things about football on that programme.’

  ‘Yes, but unlike what usually gets said, what you said was interesting.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’

  Jia changed his glasses, took out a Smythson red leather notebook and flicked through the pages at some very small writing in Chinese.

  “The Thoughts of Chairman Mao.” Then he caught my eye and smiled. “But not really. I’m just joking. No, these are some of the things you have said, Mr Manson. Such as – let me see – yes, that sometimes you can have too many great footballers in a team. That for each of them there’s a temptation to prove himself to the manager, to showboat. That too much talent can stand in the way of efficiency. This is a very Chinese way of looking at something.’

  I nodded and recalled that this wasn’t what the BBC had wanted to hear from me. They’d wanted to talk about there being no football managers in the BPL who are black. I’m never much interested in talking about that for the simple reason that I don’t consider myself any more black than I consider myself white. I don’t want to be a spokesman for ethnic issues in football. The BBC researcher had looked shocked when I suggested this and I realised – with a shock, it has to be said – that the real racism that exists in Britain today is that any amount of black in your make-up makes you wholly black. He didn’t look at me as someone who was part white, but as someone who was wholly black. Any amount of blackness taints any whiteness you might have. Fucking BBC. It was always politics with them, never just about the sport. That’s why I like Sky.

  ‘You also said – what was it now, let’s get this right – you said that football should always be easy but making it look easy was the most difficult thing there is in modern sport. That’s true of almost anything great, Mr Manson. Just watch a film of Picasso drawing something on a sheet of paper. He makes it look so easy. He gives the impression that anyone could do it. But making it look easy is what’s rare. You were so right about that. That’s what I want from you. Simple attractive football.’

  ‘Don’t you want to hear my ideas for the future of this club?’

  ‘I’ve read your book. I’ve seen you interviewed on television. I have watched you on YouTube. I have even heard you on TalkSPORT. Whenever I am in London I have been to see London City. I know your ideas already, Mr Manson. I know everything about you. How you were falsely accused of rape and imprisoned. How you were eventually acquitted. How you got your coaching certificates while you were in prison and, soon after your release, you joined Barcelona. How your ex-player father is now a successful sports entrepreneur. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Mr Manson. It is evident to me that you are a chip off the old block. It seems to me that you are very keen to be a success in your own right and not to rely on your father’s money to pay your bills. Am I right?’

  ‘You’re not wrong, Mr Jia,’ I admitted.

  ‘Maybe I tell you my own philosophy about football. Which is also my philosophy of business. This is why I like football. It is possible to learn lessons from football that apply in the factory and in the boardroom. My philosophy is this, Mr Manson: if you can’t make a profit then make sure you don’t make a loss. This is simple economics. On the pitch we express this differently but, in essence it’s the same thing. If you can’t win then make sure you don’t lose. A draw is still a draw and a point is still a point and, at the end of the season, when it all comes down to the last game and you win the league by just one point – like Manchester City in 2014 – you still win the league.’

  I nodded. I hardly wanted to spoil his story by reminding him that Manchester City had beaten Liverpool to the title by two points, but the point was well made. You might just as easily have said that if Liverpool had come back from their away match against Crystal Palace with more than just a draw – as they ought to have done after being 3–0 up – then they’d have won the title. Football contains more ‘what-ifs’ than a script meeting at Warner Brothers.

  ‘I should also tell you that you will have a budget of three hundred million yuan to buy any new players you see fit to buy for Shanghai Xuhui. This also will be in the contract. This is also part of my philosophy: you get what you pay for.’ He found another cigarette and waited for one of the girls to light him. ‘Of course I am aware that Shanghai is not yet an important part of the footballing world. But Shanghai money will be. And soon. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that success in football is all about money. Sadly, the days of Nottingham Forest winning the European Cup without big money to spend on top players are behind us. There is no longer any room for romance in football. It’s money that talks today, not flowers and chocolates and a manager with a nice turn of phrase. You want romance, there’s the FA Cup. But everything else is about money.’

  ‘I agree. I wish it wasn’t true. But it is.’

  We talked for a while longer and then, when the match was over – Shanghai Xuhui won the game 2–0 – he offered me a tour of the Yu Garden stadium the following morning.

  ‘I’d rather not take you in there now, so soon after the match,’ he explained. ‘Nicola Salieri has agreed to delay the announcement of his resignation until a new manager has been appointed. So, call your agent, Miss O’Brien. Discuss it with her tonight. But I’ll expect your decision in the morning, Mr Manson.’

  4

  Two weeks later, after a blissful Christmas holiday with Louise in Australia at the Tower Lodge in New South Wales, I was back in Shanghai.

  It wasn’t just the money that had persuaded me – although that was persuasive enough. It was the chance to be in at the beginning of something important in English football. He’d dropped a few broad hints about the club he was thinking of buying which sounded to me a lot like Leeds. I hoped it would be Leeds. Leeds was the only big club that really deserved to be back in the Premier League. After all, they had been one of the original twenty-two clubs that had voted to form the Premier League. And I could see no real reason why, with the right amount of investment, Leeds – the sleeping giant of the Championship – could not be the great team they had once been. It had worked for Manchester City. Elland Road was already the second largest football stadium outside the Premier League, with almost 38,000 capacity. That was bigger than White Hart Lane.

  At Pudong International Airport I was met by an Oddjob-type driver and one of Jia’s beautiful PR girls, who escorted me back to the Hyatt. The girl’s name was Dong Xiaolian and she spoke perfect, unaccented English. In the back seat of Jia’s Rolls-Royce she told me of the schedule of events that lay ahead of us that day. It all sounded very exciting but even before the car was moving things started to go wrong. She handed me an email from Tempest sent to the hotel which confirmed what I suspected: that the million pound signing-on fee had still not been paid.

  ‘In the afternoon we have a press conference at the hotel with all the major Chinese media,’ explained Dong. ‘I will be your interpreter. I have a Master’s degree in English literature. I am self-employed and you should regard me as being at your personal disposal while you are in Shanghai. At least until you can find a full-time interpreter. Which I am also prepared to do. I will do anything you want me to do, Mr Manson. Anything at all. Anything. You will only have to ask.’

  ‘There is something,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been paid. There was a signing-on fee of one million pounds which hasn’t yet appeared in my account. It was supposed to have been paid by the time I arrived here in Shanghai.. Which is disturbing, to say the least.’

  ‘I shall speak to Mr Jia about this immediately we get to the hotel,’ said Dong.

  ‘Thank you.’ I glanced over the schedule she had given me. ‘What’s thi
s here?’ I asked. ‘A medical? I’m going to manage, not play.’

  ‘Before you start work you must have a medical examination to make sure that you don’t have Ebola or HIV.’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s standard practice for all African men who wish to work in China.’

  ‘I’m not African,’ I said. ‘I’m British. Or, to be one hundred per cent accurate, Scots-German. On my passport it says that my place of birth is Edinburgh. That’s Edinburgh in Scotland, not Edinburgh in South Africa. And I’m certainly not going to have a test for Ebola and HIV. You can forget about that for a start.’

  ‘A black man who comes from Scotland? This is a subtlety that Chinese people and more importantly the Chinese authorities will not understand. The tests are mandatory, I’m afraid. Chinese people think all black men have Aids. And now Ebola, too. It will be necessary for you to obtain a work permit in China to show that you are not a health hazard.’

  ‘This is insulting,’ I said.

  ‘Nevertheless, it is the law. All foreigners but especially blackies who play for Chinese football clubs have to be tested. Please understand that I don’t think you have Aids or Ebola. I should certainly not be sitting in the car with you if I thought you had Ebola. Not for one minute. Nor should I have offered to sleep with you if I thought you had HIV.’

  I shook my head. ‘Did you offer to sleep with me?’

  ‘Of course. That is what I’m paid to do.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘As well as being an interpreter I am also an escort. And don’t worry, I had an HIV test yesterday, so you could be quite sure I am one hundred per cent healthy. I will show you the certificate when we get to the hotel.’

  ‘There won’t be any need for that, Dong. Look, I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding between us. I think you’re very nice but the only service I require from you will be to interpret for me at this press conference.’