The *Cristo*, facing the rising sun, sailed out of Richards Bay Harbor, trailing silver waves as it exited South African waters under the "escort" of a small patrol boat.
This was the beginning of the seventh week.
Deng Shiyang rose early that day, and after a simple wash, he went down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. He ordered a fried chicken sandwich with tomato, onion, and lettuce, paired with tartar sauce, which included pickles and a boiled egg. Additionally, he ordered a mixed vegetable salad drizzled with egg-yolk mustard dressing and a mild rice milk as his drink.
Whether due to acclimatization issues or his unfamiliarity with the spicy Southeast Asian food, after a seafood curry feast last night, Deng’s stomach had started to ache, leading to a night of sporadic stomach troubles that lasted until the early hours. Because of this, he abandoned the idea of trying more Madagascar specialty dishes and instead chose a straightforward Western-style breakfast.
The restaurant was empty of other guests, so after finishing his meal, Deng Shiyang took out his phone and dialed the contact number provided by the weapons intermediary company.
The phone rang for almost a minute before being picked up, and a slightly hoarse male voice came through, “Bonjour!”
“Hello, I’m Josh Deylek.”
“Ah, yes, finally. I’ve been waiting for your call,” the other person replied in slightly awkward English.
“What should I call you?”
“Lambert.”
“Mr. Lambert, I assume you know why I’m contacting you?”
“Of course, but to be honest, there’s been a bit of a problem…”
“What problem?” Deng Shiyang frowned.
“It’s not very convenient to discuss over the phone…” Lambert hesitated briefly before continuing, “Would it be possible for us to meet in person?”
Deng Shiyang checked his watch—it was 8:15 a.m. He replied, “How about this: 9:30 a.m. at the Carlton Hotel’s restaurant.”
“Alright, 9:30, Carlton Hotel,” the other man repeated before hanging up.
Deng Shiyang then made another call, instructing Dash to come over immediately.
About half an hour later, a sweating Dash entered the restaurant. He glanced around, exchanged a few words with the waiter, and then quickly walked over to Deng’s table.
“Sorry to rush you like this. Take a moment to catch your breath,” Deng Shiyang greeted him with a smile, apologetically gesturing to the chair beside him.
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“Oh, thank you.” Dash thanked him and sat down, ordering a complicated-sounding cold drink.
After a while, Deng Shiyang explained, “I’ll be meeting a business partner soon. I’ll introduce you as my assistant.” He added, “You won’t need to respond to any questions—just nod casually. Got it?”
Dash nodded, then asked, “Is there anything specific I need to do?”
“We’ll be meeting some government officials later. My partner will handle most of the discussions. Just translate their words for me.”
Lambert turned out to be a tanned white man with a tall, rugged frame, resembling a burly black bear. After greeting each other, he sat down and immediately began complaining, “The government agencies here change constantly, especially the departments with the most perks—the officials switch faster than a carousel. Unfortunately, the customs officer I was familiar with was transferred just a few days ago…”
“So?” Deng Shiyang asked.
“To process the paperwork smoothly, we’ll need to pay off his successor. Here, nothing moves without the right connections, whether what you’re doing is legal or not.”
“How much does he want?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
“What currency does he prefer?”
“Dollars or South African rand.”
Deng Shiyang frowned. “I didn’t bring that much cash. Will he accept a bank transfer or wire transfer?”
“That might be tricky…” Lambert replied, showing a troubled expression. “You know, most Africans don’t trust banks, especially in a country like this…”
Deng Shiyang cut him off with a wave and asked, “So, what’s your solution?”
“Here’s a suggestion: you can transfer the money to my account, and I’ll pay him on your behalf.”
“Do I have any other choice?” Deng Shiyang made no effort to hide his displeasure. He continued, “Today, I want to see the goods first. If everything’s in order, I’ll transfer the money to your account.”
After agreeing on the terms, the three of them left the hotel and took Lambert’s Toyota Corolla to Ivato International Airport.
They were meeting a short, skinny young officer, not wearing a tie, his khaki summer uniform unbuttoned at the collar, and no cap. Although Deng Shiyang wasn’t familiar with Madagascar’s military insignia, African militaries generally follow a tradition where the complexity of the rank insignia correlates with rank. Judging by the pattern on his shoulder epaulettes, this officer wasn’t high-ranking.
Led by the young officer, they walked to the entrance of the airport warehouse. The officer exchanged a few words with the guards, and they proceeded inside.
The weapons were stored in a fenced-off corner of the warehouse, contained within fifteen dark green boxes. Ten larger wooden crates held a hundred SS1-V2 rifles, four smaller crates contained two thousand magazines, and the last plastic case held maintenance tools. Each box was marked with the white “Pindad” logo, with a serial number consisting of letters and numbers below it.
The officer pulled Lambert aside and started a lengthy discussion. Deng Shiyang waited, expressionless, until they finished, then gestured for Dash to come over and asked, “What did they say?”
Dash replied, “The officer asked how much he’d benefit from this batch. Lambert told him that if he facilitated the paperwork, he’d be handsomely rewarded after the goods were loaded onto the plane tomorrow.”
Deng Shiyang had a habit of keeping some emergency cash at the bottom of his travel bag. Now, most of this money ended up with Lambert. Lambert handed the wad of dollar bills to the officer, the officer pocketed the wad of cash and gave him a warm embrace, then personally escorted them out of the airport.
It was already noon by the time they left, so the three of them found an upscale restaurant downtown and enjoyed a lavish lunch. After returning to the hotel, Deng Shiyang logged into his online banking account and transferred the equivalent to five thousand U.S. dollars in rand to Lambert. He then sent an email to Durban, updating them that everything was proceeding smoothly.