The Jason Green series Box Set

by Gordon Wallis

  Her dark auburn short-cut hair hung in loose natural curls and her neck was long and defined with prominent tendons. She had a delicate diamond shaped face, but her jaw line was strong and determined and her sizeable teeth were perfectly white when she flashed a smile at Charlie as she saw him. It was at that moment that the Asian men in the corner started shouting, laughing and gesticulating towards her from their seats at the far side of the bar. From where I sat it sounded like Chinese. She turned to face them with her hands on her hips.

  “Vai al diavolo feccia!” she shouted back at them.

  Her outburst was louder than I had expected and it immediately answered my question. The woman was Italian. She turned back to the bar and collected the mug of beer the barman had poured. Charlie opened his hands in a conciliatory gesture, but she shook her head and walked towards where I sat with an angry frown on her forehead. She stopped suddenly two metres from where I sat and downed a full half pint of beer.

  “Everything okay?” I said without thinking.

  The woman put the mug back on the bar with force, wiped her mouth with the back of her left hand and turned to look at me. With the light behind her I could see the outline of her upper body through the white cotton shirt. Her dark eyes were spellbinding, intense and fiery with anger.

  “Everything is fine thank you!” she said in a perfect English accent. “I can look after myself.”

  I raised my eyebrows and prepared to respond but it was too late. The woman lifted her beer mug from the bar and walked off to take a seat behind me. Jesus, wasn't expecting that. Sorry I asked. Feeling suitably admonished I shook my head and lifted the menu to make my choice for dinner. As I was ordering from the barman, I noticed the two Chinese men get up to leave. Both of them were unusually tall and their torsos bulged with muscle. Steroids perhaps? One of them had particularly bad acne and both had the red faces associated with the phenomenon known as Asian flush. They both glared in my direction as they left but I immediately assumed they were looking at the woman who sat behind me. I ordered another drink as my food arrived. The fish and chips were superb washed down with the beer and I thanked the barman as he took the empty plate. At that moment the woman returned to the bar near me. She nodded at the barman to indicate she needed another drink. While he made himself busy and without turning to face me, she spoke.

  “Sorry for snapping at you earlier,” she said.

  “No problem,” I replied. “I didn't know what was going on is all.”

  “Hmmm,” she said. “Put it this way. We have a few professional differences”

  The barman returned with her fresh mug of beer as she was speaking and I realised that she would soon return to her table behind me.

  “Jason Green, pleased to meet you,” I said holding out my hand.

  She turned and looked me in the eye.

  “Gabriella Bonjiovanni,” she said as she shook my hand. “Likewise.”

  With that she took her beer and returned to her seat behind me. I lit a cigarette and ordered another beer not wanting to push my luck by turning around and talking to her again. Instead I sat quietly listening to the music and watching the punters as they came and went. I could feel her presence behind me humming like electricity. It was ten minutes later that I heard the chair scrape on the floor behind me. She had finished her beer and was obviously leaving and heading towards the doorway. I felt the urge to say something, but her back was turned and she was on her way, taking long confident strides as she went. Suddenly she turned and looked me in the eye again.

  “Good night Mr Green,” she said.

  I replied without thinking and immediately regretted it.

  “Good night Mrs Bonjiovanni.”

  She stopped suddenly, turned and raised her left eyebrow in a disapproving manner.

  “Miss Bonjiovanni!” she said sternly.

  With that, she left and I sat dumbstruck as I watched her cross the concrete apron outside and disappear into the darkness of the trees at the car park. I drummed my fingers on the bar counter as I heard the old Land Rover start and watched the lights reverse out. I ordered another beer and sat quietly for the next half hour. My mind was numb with exhaustion, but the encounter had been enough to rejuvenate me. When I was done, I paid my bill and thanked the owner Charlie as I left.

  The moon had risen and the night was quiet apart from the constant crashing of the waves to my right as I walked toward the car park. As I moved through the trees and into the darkness of the car park my foot caught on a thick concrete slab and I almost tripped. Through the gloom I saw a heavy steel trap door in the centre of the slab. It was clearly some kind of underground tank. I shook my head and moved on. The street lights on the beach road cast a warm yellow glow onto the road up to my hotel. Ahead of me I saw a lone young man leaning against a lamp post casually smoking a cigarette. He was short and thin, with his hair styled into short dreadlocks. As I walked past him, he murmured something to me in Portuguese.

  “No Portuguese. English only” I said as I walked past him.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “Cocaine, acid, ecstasy?”

  Without looking back, I held up my right hand.

  “No, thank you,” I said as I walked off.

  “Any time, I'm here boss,” he said.

  I ignored him and continued my walk. The villa was refreshingly cool and I immediately went upstairs and took a shower after which I lay on the bed to think. I tried to plan my movements for the following day, but my mind repeatedly went to the woman. Gabriella Bonjiovanni...Miss Gabriella Bonjiovanni no less.

  Chapter Fifteen: Ceramica

  I AWOKE AT 6.00AM. sharp and for a moment I was confused as to where I was. I sat on the edge of the bed, stretched, and glanced at the pack of cigarettes on the table. Feeling slightly dehydrated from the travel and the beer I poured a glass of water and opened the upstairs doors to look out from the verandah. The morning was humid and misty and beyond the trees the grey sea churned and frothed as the waves rolled in. Being a Monday the beach was deserted so I quickly got dressed, locked the villa and headed out for a run. The guard only woke when he heard me pass him at the gate and I walked across the empty road to the sea wall. A section of the wall had fallen away further up the road, so I ran up and crossed the beach to the hard sand from there. I ran north at a steady pace for fifteen minutes by which time my left foot was too painful to continue. Panting heavily, I sat on the sand and looked out to sea. On the horizon were two huge super tankers and to my right I saw a number of smaller ships leaving the port. That's where the ivory leaves Africa. I took my left shoe off and sat there massaging my foot for ten minutes until I felt strong enough to make the return run. The sun had begun to burn the mist away by the time I walked down the path to my villa. I turned on the television, opened my laptop, and headed upstairs for a shower. After I was dressed, I made a cup of coffee and sat outside to smoke my first cigarette. Afterwards I spent ten minutes dealing with emails by which time I was starving hungry. I locked the villa and walked up to the reception to find some breakfast. It was served from a buffet on a raised open verandah under a terracotta tiled roof with a view of the ocean. I chose a table at the far end nearest the sea and after eating I sat with a cup of coffee to plan the day.

  I had read Hannes' report on the Mozambique operation in detail. The process was relatively simple. The ivory would travel into Zimbabwe on trucks from the copper belt in Northern Zambia. It would then arrive in Beira on the same haulage trucks having been smuggled over the border from Zimbabwe at either Forbes border post or Espungabera further south. The ivory deliveries would take place under the cover of darkness after which the trucks would continue with their legitimate loads of raw copper ingots. Once delivered it would be packed into containers of hardwood for export to China. The company was sending out at least one full size container of hardwood per week. Each container was thought to have at least 100 Kg's of ivory concealed within. Any problems at the port of Beira would be quickly dealt with using
a bribe known locally as a 'suborno'. Imperial Dragon LDA was situated in an industrial area called Ceramica which was conveniently located on the main highway between Beira and the border with Zimbabwe. Apart from a few grainy photographs of the entrance to the facility there was only written witness information on their operations. I decided I would keep it simple. Find the premises and take more photographs as evidence. I would also study the comings and goings there to see if there was any more, I could add to the report.

  Anything I could do to disrupt the process in the short time I had in Mozambique would also be an option. I was fully prepared to see the Port Authority if necessary and if that was to come to nothing the revised report would still be delivered on time. As I stared out to sea my mind drifted back to the unexpected meeting with Gabriella Bonjiovanni. I shook my head as I finished the coffee and lit a cigarette. Concentrate Green. It's time to go. The sun had burned the mist away and the day was starting to get hotter. I nodded my thanks to the chef behind the buffet and made my way back to the villa.

  I packed my day bag with the equipment I thought I might need and left the cool of the villa. By the time I reached the vehicle there were beads of sweat on my forehead and I sat and waited for the air conditioner to kick in as I typed into the Satnav. There was no record of Imperial Dragon LDA on the Satnav so instead I typed in the word 'Ceramica'. Immediately it showed a large area centred around the main highway as the report had said. I would have to go there and do my best to find the place. With that I put my sunglasses on, reversed and drove out of the hotel turning left at the beach road. Soon enough I left the pleasant leafy suburb of Macuti and entered the chaos of the city once again. Although the roads were quieter than the previous day, I found myself cursing on more than a few occasions at the appalling state of the roads and the random auto rickshaw and pedestrian traffic. In the bright light of the morning the true state of decay of the buildings was even more apparent as I weaved through the chaos.

  Eventually I left the city and joined the new highway I had driven the previous day. The traffic was moving faster and I soon passed under the flyover that marked the turn off to the airport. On either side of the road, set in between pools of stagnant water. were thousands of shacks and makeshift shops. All of them were set up in a haphazard manner and selling everything imaginable. After five minutes the landscape opened up and dropped away to empty waterlogged fields with scattered palm trees. After five minutes of relatively open road I saw the first factories on the horizon. I glanced at the Satnav which confirmed I was approaching the industrial area of Ceramica. As I approached, I noticed a side road that ran parallel to the highway. I veered off to the left and slowed down to join it. The surface of the dirt road was rough and uneven and there were large sections that were under shallow pools of water. On either side of the highway were a series of industrial units and open yards. Some were modern and newly built while others were abandoned, overgrown with grass and full of broken trucks and rusting metal. There were workshops, truck parks, and container storage facilities side by side with giant grain storage silos and processing plants. In between these were the ever present 'bancas' or bars and makeshift shops. I lit a cigarette and slowly navigated the road keeping an eye on either side for any sign of the words 'Imperial Dragon'.

  Many of the open yards were stacked with huge five-metre long logs of hardwood and as I drove I noticed a number of heavy trucks arriving loaded with the wood. Eventually the factories thinned out as I entered what I thought must have been the outskirts of Ceramica and I thought I might have to cross the highway to look at the factories on the other side. Up ahead was a huge yard surrounded by a tall wall built from rough concrete blocks with razor wire on top. The yard stretched away at least 150 metres to the left and the entire length was stacked at least four metres high with giant hardwood logs. As I drove closer, I saw the unmistakeable dragon emblem stencilled on the sawn end of each log. It was the same emblem I had seen on the tarpaulin in Zambia at Mayuni's camp. Bingo. Soon enough I reached the corner of the massive yard and I drove slowly parallel with the front wall. Every inch of space behind the facade was stacked high with mature logs and I calculated there must have been many thousands of cubic metres of wood within. The front wall stretched for a good 150 metres before I came to a huge sliding gate at the far corner of the yard. Painted on to the concrete wall to the left of the gate were the words 'Imperial Dragon Trading Mozambique LDA' To the right of that was the familiar emblem of the dragon. I slowed the vehicle as I passed but the gate was clad with sheet metal, so it was impossible to see inside. Outside the gate on the far side was a small dilapidated wooden guard house. The area around it was covered in litter and surrounded by overflowing rubbish bins. A sleepy looking young man sat inside it clearly sweltering in the heat. Through the gloom of the interior I could clearly see a rifle leant against the wood in the corner. I craned my neck for a look as I passed the gate, but it was no good. It was clear that whoever was conducting business on the inside wanted it to remain private. Up ahead on either side of the dirt road were a series of shacks and makeshift shops. One of them had a small sign outside which read 'Banca Miguel' There was a pile of beer crates outside and a few cheap plastic tables and chairs under a roof of dried reeds. I parked the vehicle nearby and got out playing the tourist with my camera around my neck. Distorted music blared from a speaker inside the shack. Apart from myself the only other patron was a thin elderly black man wearing a tatty Bob Marley t-shirt. Both he and the man I assumed was the owner were surprised to see me arrive and take a seat in the shade at a nearby table. The owner delivered a quart sized bottle of Manica and a raw egg to the man in the t-shirt. I watched as he poured some beer into a glass then proceeded to crack the egg into it. The man downed the concoction in one gulp then sat back to relax. A beer omelette? The owner approached me and said something in Portuguese I couldn't understand.

  “Coca-Cola,” I said holding up a single finger.

  The man nodded and went off into the shack to get my drink. From where I sat, I could clearly see the sliding gate at the entrance to Imperial Dragon Trading. I lifted the camera and adjusted the zoom lens to get a clear picture of the gate and the sign. Not wanting my interest to be too obvious I snapped off a few pictures of the surrounding area as well.

  I lit a cigarette as my drink was delivered and sat there watching patiently. It was ten minutes later that I saw a heavily laden haulage truck making its way up the slip road towards me. It was loaded high with giant hardwood logs and its progress was painfully slow as it negotiated the puddles and ridges of the dirt road. The young man whom I had seen in the guard house had obviously heard it approaching and got out to take a look. The driver of the truck hooted and the guard responded with a wave. Immediately he walked to the gate, unlocked it and began to slide it open. Clearly, the gate was heavy and he took a good minute of heaving to get it fully open. I realised this would probably be my only opportunity to get a picture of the inside of the yard, so I got up and started walking towards the gate on the far side of the slip road. The truck took a wide turn as it neared the gate in order to line itself up to enter the yard. The guard busied himself giving hand signals to the driver so he could enter safely. From where I stood, I could see the yard was literally overflowing with thousands upon thousands of cubic metres of wood. Once the truck was in the yard the driver turned left and it gave me even more of a view. In the centre of the yard was a cheaply built factory unit outside which were two dusty looking cars and a heavy-duty forklift. Behind the factory was a stack of thirty-foot shipping containers. Beyond these was what looked like two small cottages or accommodation blocks. I assumed they were for housing as there were air conditioners on the front walls and a satellite dish on the roof of each building. There were heavy metal gates on the two doors and thick bars on the windows. Behind the accommodation blocks were two large fuel tanks raised on a steel stand. I lifted the camera and snapped off a few pictures. It was then I saw the two Chinese me
n. I recognized them immediately as the same men I had seen at Charlie's Pub the previous day. I had not noticed them at first as they had been standing behind the truck as it entered the yard. Both men were dressed the same as they had been with jeans and tight t-shirts. Both wore sunglasses and on their belts were holsters with side arms. Upon seeing me with the camera they both started running towards me gesticulating and shouting in Chinese. It was very clear they did not appreciate the intrusion. They both stopped at the gate and shouted at the hapless guard to close it immediately. I raised my right hand and shook my head.

  “Sorry!” I shouted.