Ya Ru had been standing on a high sand dune, gazing out over the Indian Ocean. It was the day after the deaths of Hong Qiu and Liu Xan. With him were the governor of Zambezi Province and a South African architect who had been specially called in. Suddenly the governor had pointed towards the reef furthest from the shore. A whale was basking there and blowing. The governor explained that it was not unusual to see whales along this stretch of coast.
‘What about icebergs?’ wondered Ya Ru. ‘Has a lump of ice from the Antarctic ever drifted as far north as this?’
‘There is a legend,’ said the governor. ‘Many generations ago, just before the first white men — the Portuguese sailors — landed on our shores, it’s said that an iceberg was spotted off this coast. The men who paddled out in their canoes to investigate were frightened by the cold given off by the ice. Later, when the white men came ashore from their big sailing ships, people said that the iceberg had been a harbinger of what was soon to happen. The white men were the same colour as the iceberg, their thoughts and actions just as cold. Nobody knows if it’s true or not.’
‘I want to build here,’ said Ya Ru. ‘Yellow icebergs will never drift past this beach.’
After a day of frantic measuring, a large plot of land was marked out and transferred to one of Ya Ru’s many companies. The price for the land and the beach was barely more than symbolic. For a similar sum Ya Ru also bought the approval of the governor and the most important officials, who would ensure that he received the ratification documents and all the necessary building permission without undue delay. The instructions he gave the South African architect had already produced a set of plans and a watercolour sketch of what his palatial house would look like, with two swimming pools filled with water pumped up from the sea, surrounded by palm trees and an artificial waterfall. The house would have eleven rooms plus a bedroom with a roof that could slide open to reveal the starry sky. The governor had promised that special electrical and telecommunication cables would be laid for Ya Ru’s remote property.
Now, as he sat contemplating what would become his African home, he decided that one of the rooms would be arranged as a tribute to Hong Qiu. Ya Ru wanted to honour her memory. He would furnish this room with a bed made for a guest who would never arrive. Irrespective of what had happened, she would remain a member of the family.
The telephone rang. Ya Ru frowned. Who would want to speak to him this early in the morning? He picked up the receiver.
‘Two men from the security services are here.’
‘What do they want?’
‘They are high-ranking officials from the Special Intelligence Section. They say it’s urgent.’
‘Let them in ten minutes from now.’
Ya Ru replaced the receiver. He held his breath. The SIS only dealt with matters involving men at the very top of the government or, like Ya Ru, men who lived between the political and economic power brokers — the modern bridge-builders picked out by Deng to be of crucial importance for the country’s development.
What did they want? Ya Ru went to the window and looked out over the city in the morning haze. Could it have anything to do with Hong Qiu’s death? He thought of all the known and unknown enemies he had. Was one of them trying to exploit Hong Qiu’s death in order to destroy his good name and reputation? Or was there something he had overlooked, despite everything? He knew that Hong Qiu had been in touch with a prosecutor, but he belonged to quite a different authority.
Hong Qiu could naturally have spoken to other people he didn’t know about.
He couldn’t think of any explanation. All he could do was listen to what the men had to say.
After ten minutes had passed he put the plans into a drawer and sat down at his desk. The two men Mrs Shen showed in were in their sixties. That increased Ya Ru’s uneasiness. The officers sent out were usually younger. The fact that these two men were older indicated that they were very experienced and the matter they wanted to discuss was serious.
Ya Ru stood up, bowed and invited them to sit down. He didn’t ask their names, as he knew that Mrs Shen would have checked their identity papers very carefully.
They sat down in armchairs around a low table in front of the window. Ya Ru offered them tea, but the men declined.
It was the elder of the two men who did the talking. Ya Ru detected an unmistakable Shanghai accent.
‘We have received information,’ said the man. ‘We can’t say where the information came from, but it is so detailed that we can’t ignore it. Our instructions have become stricter when it comes to dealing with crimes against the state and the constitution.’
‘I have been involved in tightening up on action against corruption,’ said Ya Ru. ‘I don’t understand why you are here.’
‘We have received information suggesting that your construction companies are seeking advantages using forbidden methods.’
‘Forbidden methods?’
‘Forbidden exchange of favours.’
‘In other words, bribery and corruption? Taking bribes?’
‘The information we have received is very detailed. We are worried.’
‘So you have come here at this early hour of the morning to tell me that you are investigating irregularities in my companies?’
‘We would prefer to say that we are informing you of the suspicions.’
‘To warn me?’
‘If you like.’
Ya Ru understood. He was a man with powerful friends, even in the anti-corruption authority. And so he had been given a head start. To eradicate the trail, get rid of proof, or demand explanations if he was not personally aware of what was going on.
He thought of the shot in the back of the head that had recently killed Shen Weixian. It was as if the two grey men sitting opposite him were emitting a cold chill, just as, according to legend, the African iceberg had.
Ya Ru wondered again if he had been careless. Perhaps on one occasion or another he had felt too secure and allowed himself to be carried away by his arrogance. If so, that had been a mistake. Such mistakes are always punished.
‘I need to know more,’ he said. ‘This is too vague, too general.’
‘Our instructions don’t allow us to say more.’
‘The accusations, even if they are anonymous, must come from somewhere.’
‘We can’t answer that either.’
Ya Ru wondered for a moment if it might be possible to pay the two men to give him more information. But he did not dare take the risk. One or perhaps both of them might be carrying concealed microphones recording the conversation. There was of course also a chance that they were honest and didn’t have a price — unlike so many government officials.
‘These vague accusations are totally without foundation,’ said Ya Ru. ‘I’m grateful to have heard about the rumours that are evidently surrounding me and my companies. But anonymity is often a source of falsehood, envy and insidious lies. I make sure that my enterprises are beyond reproach, i have the confidence of the government and the party and have no hesitation in maintaining that I am sufficiently in control to know that my managing directors follow my directives. Obviously I’m not able to claim that there are no minor irregularities; my employees number more than thirty thousand.’