The Jason Green series Box Set

by Gordon Wallis

  I heard the opening chords of 'You Give Love a Bad Name' by Bon Jovi playing on the television. A few other punters had drifted in during dinner, but the pub was generally quiet. I looked at the paper in my hand and saw her address was in a suburb by the name of Manga. I folded and pocketed it as the beer arrived. Well it makes sense now Green. The connection with Imperial Dragon and the other smaller logging concerns. Her connection to Africa through her grandfather. You have your answers. I turned in my seat, lit a cigarette and stared out through the breeze blocks at the reflection of the moon on the ocean. My mind was spinning. Meeting Miss Gabriella Bonjiovanni had thrown me off course completely. Concentrate Green.

  It was 8.40 pm when I settled my bill at the bar, thanked Charlie and made my way out towards the car park. The table of revellers out near the drop off were in full party mode and the women were screeching with laughter as the drinks were delivered. I walked into the darkness of the car park and crouched slightly to pass underneath the overhanging Bougainvillea bush. Once again, I almost tripped on the hidden concrete slab to the right of my vehicle. Fucking hell.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom and once again I saw the heavy steel trapdoor in the centre of the slab. Charlie really needs to put a light up around here. I thought as I fumbled in my pockets for my keys. The streets of Macuti were quiet and soon enough I drove into the city. Although the traffic was easier there were still many thousands of pedestrians to contend with and it was 9.00 pm by the time I got on to the highway and was able to pick up speed. The road-side bars were thronged with punters many of whom stumbled across the road randomly and on more than one occasion I had to swerve to dodge them. Before long I reached the outskirts of Ceramica and veered left on to the rough service road that led to the Imperial Dragon yard. The vehicle lurched through the potholes and pools of stagnant water as I drove through the darkness. Soon enough I reached the far corner of the Imperial Dragon premises. The interior of the yard was clearly lit by the yellow glow of the spotlights I had seen earlier and the deadly razor wire at the top of the high walls glinted in the moonlight. I approached the gate and the guard house slowly, driving in second gear and I saw a man sitting on a small wooden chair near a fire nearby. The full beam of my headlights was, clearly, bothering him and he lifted his hand to shield his eyes. Near his chair were three empty brown bottles and the rifle I had seen earlier was leaning against the gate. As I got closer, I saw one of the dogs I had seen earlier was chained to a metal ring on the wall of the guard house. It lay in the filthy sand fast asleep and completely unconcerned by my approaching vehicle. As I passed the huge steel-clad gate, I had a good look at the guard. He was much older than the man who had been there during the day and I could see his eyes were bloodshot from drink. The lights were still on at Banca Miguel and I parked the vehicle nearby and walked in. Apart from two emaciated and incredibly drunk women, the place was empty. Distorted music blared from the speakers and place smelt of urine. The owner was clearly surprised to see me again and I took the same table I had sat at earlier and ordered a Manica. I fitted the night vision lens to the camera as I waited for my beer and zoomed in on the guard. There was nothing to see that I hadn't witnessed as I had driven up. The man sat on the chair with his back to me occasionally drinking from one of the bottles. I sat there and tolerated the music for another twenty minutes. Eventually the two women staggered out and headed off into the darkness behind the bar. I watched as the owner began tidying up and collecting the empty bottles and plastic cups that were strewn on the floor. It looked to me that it was very nearly closing time at Banca Miguel. It was exactly 10.00 pm. when I saw the old guard gather his empty bottles and stand up from his chair. With a heavy limp he began to walk towards the bar where I sat. He blinked his bloodshot eyes as they adjusted to the light as he walked in and he stared at me briefly with a confused look on his face. Clearly the sight of a white man at Banca Miguel was an uncommon occurrence. The man was clearly drunk and unsteady on his feet and he almost stumbled as he crossed the filthy floor to the bar counter. There was a brief conversation that I could not hear, above the music, but the owner took the empty bottles and replaced them with full ones.

  I pretended to look at my phone as he walked past my table and returned to his chair and fire near the gate. I sat, waiting and watching for what seemed an eternity. It was 11.30 and two beers later when I finally decided to leave. The owner had been constantly glancing at his watch and I had the distinct feeling he wanted to close up and go home for the night. There had been no traffic either in or out of the Imperial Dragon yard and the old guard sat as he had been all night drinking his beer and tending to the fire. I paid my bill to the owner of the bar and walked back to the vehicle. It was as I was about to turn the key in the ignition that I saw the lights of a vehicle approaching in the rear-view mirror. I turned in my seat to see the old guard had hurriedly stood and was in the process of hiding his bottles in the guard house. I quickly got out of the vehicle and moved off into the darkness of a nearby shack with my camera. As the lights of the approaching vehicle got closer, I realized it was not a haulage truck but a small passenger car. The driver turned, faced the gate and hooted repeatedly as the old guard fumbled to unlock the padlock and chain that secured it. The vehicle was a cream coloured Toyota with the emblem of a dragon on the driver's door. Easy to remember. I zoomed in and snapped a few photographs of the car and the driver. His window was open and his muscled arm hung over the door. I instantly recognized him as one of the Chinese men I had seen at Charlie's and earlier in the day at the yard. There was no mistaking the pock marked skin of his face. He shouted something incomprehensible and spat at the guard who by then was struggling to slide open the heavy gate on its wheels. I knew that relations between Chinese nationals and Africans were not good but spitting at employees was a bit much. As soon as it was open the vehicle disappeared inside and the guard began the heavy task of closing and locking it once again. So, the men clearly live in the yard as you suspected Green. I moved back to the comfort of the vehicle and sat for another twenty minutes watching the gate in the rear-view mirror. With the gate locked once again the old man had retrieved his beers from the guard house, taken his seat and resumed drinking and tending the fire. I looked back towards Banca Miguel and saw the owner had locked up and turned off the lights. The night was quiet, still and warm and I was tired. I glanced at my watch and saw it was just after midnight. Time to go Green. I fired the motor and drove slowly through the puddles and dips until I reached the merge with the main highway. After making a U turn, I drove slowly past the Imperial Dragon yard. The spotlights cast an eerie yellow glow over the massive piles of logs and the smoke from the old man's fire drifted up in curling tendrils. The journey back to the hotel in Beira took only twenty minutes and the streets were quiet for once. The only person I saw in the quiet suburb of Macuti was the ever-present young drug dealer leaning against the street light near the beach. Our eyes met briefly as I drove past him and headed to the gate of the hotel. The villa was pleasantly, cool and I stood for five minutes under the shower with my eyes closed, as I thought through the events of the day. I had learned a lot and the pictures and videos I had taken would no doubt be valuable for Hannes' report. I realized after talking to Gabby that the organization I was following was far bigger and infinitely more powerful than I had ever imagined.

  I lay back on the pillow with my hands behind my head and stared at the stucco plaster of the ceiling. My mind drifted into random thoughts as I fell asleep and in my dream I saw a terrified Gabriella Bonjiovanni running through the streets of some nameless city. Chasing her from behind was a giant fire breathing dragon and I was completely unable to help her.

  Chapter 16: Gabriella Bonjiovanni

  I AWOKE AT 7.00 AM feeling refreshed and relaxed for the first time since leaving London. I sat on the side of the bed, stretched and walked to the arched window to open the curtains. The day was misty, overcast and still and I instantly felt
the extreme humidity as I opened the window. I walked downstairs and made a cup of coffee while watching the early news on the television. Wearing nothing but my shorts I opened the front doors and sat outside on the veranda to smoke the first cigarette of the day. The street, below, was quiet and the only sound was the steady crashing of the waves beyond the trees. I sat staring blankly out to sea battling to get my thoughts together as I smoked and drank the coffee. Maybe it's time to take a break Green. You've been running hard for a while now. Maybe take a day to relax. By the time I drained the cup and crushed out the cigarette I was sweating so I headed upstairs for a shower. After dressing I turned the television off and left the villa from the back door.

  The oppressive humidity appeared to have set in for the day and the staff had set up standing fans on the breakfast deck for the comfort of the guests. After eating I sat back with another cup of coffee and thought about the day ahead. A small part of me was beginning to doubt my reasons for being there. Maybe you've done enough Green? There really is no point going back to the Imperial yard in Ceramica. Maybe it's time to simply deliver the report and get back to reality? I shook my head as I realized that returning to the dreary routine of London frightened me more than anything. I pulled the piece of paper from my pocket with the address Gabriella Bonjiovanni had written on the previous night. I stared at it as I lit a cigarette. You know you're going there Green. I thought. You know it. The clouds were thick overhead as I walked down the pathway back to my villa. By the time I had responded to my emails and browsed the news it was 9.30 am. Good a time as any I suppose. I grabbed my bag, locked the villa and headed up the path to the vehicle. It came as a surprise to find the Satnav recognized the exact address she had written. I reversed the vehicle and headed out through the gate with a wave from the guard who was visibly sweating at his post. It seemed the oppressive muggy conditions had kept a lot of people indoors that day and the suburb of Macuti was fairly quiet. This was not the case as I entered the familiar pandemonium of the city. The route took me through the city and up the new highway towards the airport. It was at the turn off to the airport that I took a left and entered the suburb of Manga. The road was worse than anything I had experienced in Beira so far. Each side was bustling with people, strewn with litter and the surface non-existent. There were great pools of stagnant water with rusted metal poles sticking out of them warning the motorists of their depth. The makeshift shops and rotten buildings grew out of the mess randomly in amongst the palm trees. At one stage I wondered if Gabby had written the correct address as I found it hard to believe she would reside in such a place. I passed a fishmonger’s shop on the right-hand side and saw customers strapping cardboard slabs of frozen fish on to the backs of their motorcycles.

  The sign outside showed that they sold all manner of seafood including prawns, lobster and crab. The interior was bright, fully tiled and looked clean, in stark contrast to the surrounding area. Once again, I was reminded of the reality that both the poor and the rich lived side by side in the city of Beira. It was two hundred metres further down the road that the Satnav indicated I should turn right. The road was wider and less crowded, with trees and walled properties on each side. The surface was better and I was able to pick up speed and engage third gear as I drove. It was two minutes later that the Satnav told me I had arrived at my destination. On the right-hand side was a tall wall painted in a rustic red colour. The top was covered by a roll of razor wire and in the corner nearest me was a steel-clad gate. From the vehicle I could see the interior was filled with mature trees. I turned in and pulled up to the gate. Immediately I saw a black face peer through the gap in the steel cladding. The man, whom I assumed was a guard, was obviously expecting me and began to unlock a padlock on the chain that secured the gate. The gate swung open on each side to reveal a lush, manicured tropical garden with a brick paved driveway. Thick green grass grew on each side and ornamental bananas stood side by side with giant Strelitzias along the wall. The house, which was set thirty metres in, was an old single storey colonial design which had been renovated lovingly with fresh paint and teak window frames. Further down the driveway was a giant Cashew tree that over hung the house and a single car port. The old short wheelbase Land Rover was parked underneath the shade cloth of the car port. I nodded at the guard as I drove in and parked behind the old vehicle. Once again, the humidity hit me like a brick wall as I grabbed my bag and opened the door. I looked back at the guard who had locked the gate behind me.

  “Alem, alem!” he called in Portuguese, pointing further into the garden beyond the house.

  I made my way around the vehicles and along the wall of the house which was decorated with African masks and old wooden carvings. Beyond the house the landscaped garden stretched away through palm trees to reveal a sparkling blue swimming pool with an entertainment area and brick barbecue with rustic wrought iron furniture. All around were large, carefully placed Shona sculptures in stone and cascading terracotta pot plants with glistening Bromeliads and succulents. It was when I had rounded the house and walked on to a tiled patio with more furniture when I first heard it. There was no doubt it was Gabriella Bonjiovanni who was grunting and yelling. The terrible noise was accompanied by a repetitive slapping and thudding sound as if she was being severely beaten. Instantly the hairs on the back of my neck stood up with alarm and the adrenalin flowed in my arms and legs. What the fuck? My eyes darted around for the source of the noise for a split second before I realised it was coming from around the far side of the house near the boundary wall. Without thinking I dashed across the tiled surface of the patio and rounded the corner of the house to confront the situation. I came around at speed and almost slipped on the grass before coming to a stop. Gabriella Bonjiovanni stood barefoot with her legs apart and her fists raised ready to attack.

  Her faded grey vest was soaked with sweat and she wore a pair of small blue running shorts. Hanging in front of her from the overhead branch of another Cashew tree was an old brown leather punch bag. Its surface had been patched over the years and it was lumpy and heavy looking. As I caught my breath, she landed a heavy right-hand blow to the centre of the bag. Upon seeing me she steadied the bag and her face broke into a bright smile. Her dark curly hair was soaking wet and her entire body glowed with sweat.

  “Oh,” she said panting. “It's you. Good morning Mr Green.”

  “Jesus!” I replied “You gave me a fright. I thought you were being attacked for a moment.”

  Gabriella Bonjiovanni raised a single eyebrow in mock disdain before landing a savage kick to the side of the punching bag with the bare foot of her right leg. She was both powerful and lightning fast and the blow landed with a loud meaty crack.

  “Nope,” she said gaily as she grabbed a small towel from a nearby chair “Just my morning routine.”

  She wiped the sweat from her face as she walked past me.

  “It's very warm today,” she said. “Come inside for some juice.”

  She walked in front of me tall and confident before opening a large glass sliding door to the sitting room. It was a relief to step into the air-conditioned interior and I closed the door behind me.

  “Have a look around, take a seat, make yourself at home,” she said motioning towards the furniture. “I'm going to take a quick shower. Two minutes.”

  “Thanks,” I replied as she walked off down a corridor.

  The room was airy and spacious with polished terracotta tiles on the floor and quality wooden desks and cupboards. There were African style reed blinds on the windows and mud cloth coverings on the seats and tables. At the far side was a counter around which was an open plan kitchen. In the far corner was a pile of lighting and sound equipment and on the nearby desk was a laptop computer. I took a seat on a couch near a low coffee table and picked up a magazine as I waited. The flat screen television nearby was tuned into Satellite News Network with the volume on low.

  Two minutes later, as promised, Gabriella Bonjiovanni emerged from the corridor. A
lthough her hair was still wet, she looked cool and refreshed and I saw the glow of health in her cheeks. She was barefoot and wore a fresh pair of khaki shorts and a faded light blue t-shirt with the word 'Juventus' printed on the front.

  “Would you like a juice?” she asked. “Fresh pineapple.”

  “Sure, thanks,” I replied as I turned a page of the magazine.

  She spoke with her back to me as she opened the fridge and poured the drinks into tall glasses.

  “Our report isn't ready yet. We still have some filming and a lot of editing to do but I can show what we have so far. Give you a rough idea of what's going on here.”

  “That would be interesting. I'd like to see that. Where are the rest of your crew? Do they stay here as well?” I asked.

  “No,” she replied. “They are set up in the house next-door. I think they're working on the edit today.”

  She walked through and I stood up and thanked her as she handed me a glass of ice-cold juice. She put her own glass down on the coffee table near me and turned around to fetch her laptop from the desk. She returned carrying the computer, sat down next to me on the couch, and placed it on the table in front of us. I could smell the soap on her skin and the shampoo in her hair. Once again, I realised the simple experience of being in close proximity to her was astonishing. It was as if she literally radiated her strength, intelligence and beauty.

  “Now then,” she said as she pulled the spectacles from her pocket and placed them halfway down her nose.

  Using the mouse pad, she minimised a couple of open windows leaving an open media file on the screen.