The Secret Chamber (14 page)

‘Do you think … we might have another drink?’ Hao asked at last, smiling tightly.

‘Sorry, my old friend,’ Jian said, clicking his fingers towards the air stewardess. ‘I thought you had given that stuff up.’

Hao shook his head good-naturedly, the relief of being offered something else to drink far outweighing his surprise that Jian had believed he was teetotal.

‘General,’ Hao began, pausing to take a deep pull of his drink, ‘I’m flattered to be asked to accompany you on one of your trips, but when you called I wasn’t sure what you actually needed.’

‘Trust,’ Jian said, his lips curving in a smile. He let the word hang in the air a moment longer before leaning forward conspiratorially in his seat.

‘I need someone I can trust with an extremely important mission. This is a case of national security.’

Hao’s eyes bulged. He was suddenly feeling decidedly anxious. For the last five years, he had been manoeuvred within his own company into a position which held almost no day-to-day responsibility. Now, the General was talking about national security.

‘A mission?’ Hao repeated, raising his drink slightly to
attract
the attention of the air stewardess. She came over quickly, loading it with another double shot.

‘Yes, a mission, but I need someone outside the PLA for this … outside the government even. This has got to stay completely off the radar, Hao. I am relying on you for that.’

Hao sat up straight, feeling a strange mix of surprise, inadequacy and pride that someone might actually need him to do something. He cast his eyes around the sumptuous interior of the Gulfstream, the whole design reeking of moneyed elegance. This was one of only two types of private jet which could fly from Beijing to London without refuelling. It was for the elite few, and here he was, sitting opposite a man who commanded that kind of lifestyle … and that man was asking
him
for a favour.

‘Of course, General. But what is it you need from me?’

‘For you to be me,’ Jian said, smiling inwardly at the irony of his request. He wondered whether the $4,000 suit and Rolex Daytona he had brought for Hao to wear would be enough to fool the bankers.

Hao was frowning heavily, while his jaw trembled very slightly.

‘It’s simple,’ Jian continued, trying to sound reassuring. ‘I have made a deposit at the Credit Libana Bank in downtown Beirut. I need you to access the funds and then short a list of eight telecom companies on the Stock Exchange.’

Hao’s mouth opened as if Jian had asked him to do something that was physically impossible.

‘Short?’ he stammered. ‘It’s not really my field … I mean, the whole stocks and shares thing.’

Jian smiled again, but his eyes had hardened. Suffering fools was one of his greatest pet hates.

‘Shorting means that you promise to sell someone shares in the future at a certain price. For instance, in one month from now, you will agree to sell Vodafone shares for nine dollars each to a buyer. He’ll take your shares, whatever happens, at that price. Now, if the market moves downwards and Vodafone shares drop in value, when you go to buy those shares, you can get them cheaper than nine dollars, right? You might buy them for, say, six dollars instead, but you are still selling them at nine dollars, because the buyer
guaranteed
you that price. You see?’

A knowing smile crept across Hao’s face. ‘Shorting,’ he repeated, nodding vehemently. ‘I thought that’s what it was.’ He leaned back in his seat a little, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off the tablecloth. ‘So how much money are we talking about here?’

Jian stared at him. Despite every precaution, he still felt hesitant about disclosing such a detail, but there was nothing for it. Hao would find out soon enough when they arrived in Beirut.

‘Using option contracts, we will leverage an initial investment of 36 million US dollars to nearly twenty times that sum.’

Jian had done his calculations and conservatively estimated that the stock market would initially drop five per cent with the announcement that their company, ChinaCell, was launching a standard-sized phone with global satellite capabilities. Once the full implications of this launch were felt
across
the board, all the top blue-chip companies, from Apple to Verizon, LG to Vodafone would come crashing down. Overnight, their iPhones, BlackBerries and Androids, once the pride of their R&D divisions, would be relegated to the past. The general feeling of the Guild was that they would become all but obsolete in less than two years.

If the market went as they predicted, on his initial investment of $36 million, Jian was set to net over half a billion dollars. In under one month, all that money would be his.

The announcement was coming soon.

‘Thirty-six million dollars,’ Hao repeated. The number was beyond anything he could comprehend. ‘That’s a lot,’ he said vaguely. His forehead creased again. ‘But I am still not sure where I fit in. Why am I being you, so to speak?’

‘Because it’s vital that my presence is not known to anyone in Beirut. I will be acting as
your
assistant under a different name.’

‘You’ll be my assistant?’

‘That’s correct.’ Jian stared across at Hao. ‘As you can imagine,’ he began, his voice slowing as if speaking to a foreigner, ‘my position as a general of the PLA has certain, shall we say, limitations while I am overseas. So the government has given me some different papers and I will go by the name of Chen. It’s very important you remember to refer to me that way.’

‘Chen?’

Jian stared across the table at him, wondering if he could actually entrust something so important to this imbecile. He had to reinforce the idea somehow. Just one mistake would
be
enough to blow his cover. Reaching inside the breast pocket of his suit, he pulled out his new passport and slid it across the table.

He watched as Hao cautiously picked it up, flipping through the fictitious visa stamps to the picture on the final page. They had done a good job; even the dark red cover had been faded and creased to make it look older than it was.

Over the last four days, Jian had grown a thin moustache and cut the sides of his jet-black hair extremely short. The effect was quite radical, lengthening his face. With some coloured contact lenses, he had dulled the black of his eyes to a lighter grey. He had been right to assume that Hao wouldn’t notice the difference. Too much time had passed since they had last seen each other.

‘And what about me?’ Hao asked, slowly closing the passport.

‘You will be travelling under your own name. All you have to do is treat me like your assistant and let me do the talking.’

‘But don’t I need some fake ID as well? And what if they should spot yours at Customs? What if something goes wrong … like …’

Hao slipped into silence, wetting his lips. He suddenly felt completely out of his depth. Fake passports and moving millions of dollars between accounts … Wasn’t that spying? Surely, they could imprison them both without trial for that kind of thing. He’d heard what those Arabs could do.

‘Look, General,’ Hao said softly, ‘I’m not sure about this.
I’m
not really cut out for … well, the whole spy thing.’

‘No one is asking you to be a spy. Don’t be so melodramatic.’ Jian tried to smile, but succeeded only in showing his teeth. ‘They can’t touch a Chinese national in the Lebanon,’ he lied. ‘At the worst case, you’d be deported, and we’re scheduled to fly back tomorrow anyway.’

‘It’s just that I’m really not too comfortable …’

‘Trust me when I say you will be doing your country a great service. Remember – this is for the sake of national security. I will also use my influence to ensure you are recommended for a commendation after this.’

‘A commendation,’ Hao repeated. Despite himself, a glow appeared in his cheeks. Imagine what his wife and contemporaries would say to that! He stayed silent for a moment, mulling it over. As the General had said, the worst case was that he would be deported from a country he never intended to go back to anyway. After a minute more, Hao straightened in his chair, feeling his chest swell for the first time in years. Imagine coming home with a commendation!

‘OK,’ he said, nodding in a manner that suggested Jian had been right to bestow his trust on him. ‘Let’s do it.’

He reached across the table, smiling, one hand outstretched. Jian hesitated. Hao’s teeth were a shade of dirty yellow with a gap between the front two, while his lips looked rouged and fat. The man was simply revolting, but he was necessary. As the fictitious assistant, it would be far easier for Jian to fade back into obscurity.

He shook hands.

‘Good to be together again, huh?’ Hao offered. ‘Been a
long
time hasn’t it? I was thinking of that time at university when we broke out of the campus together, right under the professor’s nose!’

As he raised his glass to the air stewardess again, Jian suddenly reached forward, clasping his fingers around Hao’s wrist.

‘No more. You stay sober from now on.’

THE WHITE 7
Series BMW moved as sedately as it could through the utter anarchy of Beirut’s main highway. Six lanes of traffic ran in both directions on the Hafez el Assad with cars swerving unpredictably from one lane to the next. A blacked-out Audi with Dubai plates veered inches away from the BMW’s bumper, its engine revving loudly, as it tried to get past and beat a bikini-clad girl in a Porsche just in front.

Lining the searing hot tarmac were garish billboards offering cosmetic surgery, property deals and the chance to get your teeth whitened at a discount price. Behind them stood a multitude of white apartment blocks with views over the sparkling blue sea, that stretched all the way up to the outskirts of the city.

The BMW pushed through the traffic and finally into the downtown area. The entire central part of Beirut had been rebuilt after the war. After sixteen years of bitter conflict, only a handful of buildings were left standing, each pockmarked and gaping from mortar rounds and machine-gun
fire
. Amongst all the new construction and the prevailing air of opulence, a couple of these buildings had been left standing as a reminder to the hardliners that, despite the wealth pouring in, Beirut could easily succumb to troubled times again.

The towering minarets of Mohammad Al-Amin Mosque with its domed turquoise roof came into view and the car slowly pulled round the back before arriving at the entrance to Credit Libana private bank. The roller shutters eased up to reveal heavily armed soldiers talking on a radio, before waving them through into the interior of the building.

They were led up a wide stone staircase and into an open-air courtyard. Protected from the noise and heat of the city by the building’s heavy stone walls, the courtyard brimmed with Arabic refinement. Stunningly ornate mosaics ran from the floor into the arches of the vaulted ceiling, while water softly bubbled away in the central fountain. Cedarwood desks had been positioned to one side, while nearer to the fountain was a low seating area. Mint tea and pistachios arrived seconds later, followed by a rotund man wearing a tailored blue suit and sporting a well-groomed goatee. He had the soft, pleasant features of a man who had worked indoors his entire life, cocooned by money and privilege.

‘
Ahlan wa sahlan, sharraftouna fi loubnan
.’ Welcome, you honour us by coming to Lebanon, he said. Then in English, ‘I am A’zam el Hussein.’

General Jian got to his feet and bowed courteously, before shaking his hand.

‘I am Mr Hao’s private secretary and will be translating for him on today’s matters.’

A’zam nodded respectfully to Hao, who was fidgeting, his fingers drumming against the wooden armrest.

‘We have already prepared the paperwork in line with your request,’ A’zam continued, ‘but I wanted to speak to you privately, if you will permit?’

Jian nodded, reminding himself to play the role of assistant. He moved back a pace to allow A’zam to sit down.

‘We understand you wish to invest in the following companies,’ A’zam began, motioning with his fingers to a young assistant, clutching an embossed leather folder to her chest. A single page of A4 paper was presented to Jian. It listed the names of all the Western telecom companies he had stipulated and the amounts of each stock to be shorted. Jian ran his eyes down the list slowly, double-checking each amount.

‘This is correct. It is in line with what Mr Hao has directed me to authorise.’

‘As I am sure Mr Hao is aware, in each one of these cases you are betting against the market. In places, heavily. Telecom stocks have increased at an average of eight per cent over the last five years, with some of them doing considerably better.’ A’zam paused, his expression sympathetic. ‘I would not be doing my job if I did not caution you as to this fact and to the substantial losses you will incur if the market does not move as you hope.’

Leaning back in his chair a little, he raised his hands.

‘As you can imagine, we here at Credit Libana handle many client portfolios and would be delighted to offer some advice.’

Jian turned back to Hao, speaking softly in Mandarin. A moment later he said to A’zam, ‘Mr Hao is aware of the situation and thanks you for your caution. If we could now settle the paperwork?’