decided not to return to Beijing. He continued to plan and build his wealth and influence in the Sedois Islands. Throughout these intervening years, Lee had maintained regular contact with Xi Jinping, as he himself steadily grew his own factional clique within the Chinese Communist Party. They both harboured aspirations of becoming supreme communist leaders and, clearly, Xi was a valuable friend and ally to have in your corner.
When Lee arrived on La Premiere for his wedding to Ai-qun Yang, he had required urgent legal assistance. Lee was obliged to fulfil basic immigration and residency procedures but he desired Sedois Island citizenship as well as legal transfer of the tuna fishing business into his name. Soval Pape had been recommended as an outstanding legal advisor. Their friendship developed from this serendipity. And continued to this day.
“We have the finances in place, we know the numbers we need to win, it’s just a matter of executing the details,” Lee summarily stated with his usual certainty.
Soval swallowed a mouthful of beer before responding, “There are still a few loose ends, but we have time to sort these out.”
“It’s coming fast, gweilo.” Using the colloquial Chinese term for foreigners amused Lee, especially as it generally referred to Europeans, and Soval was Indian. It roughly translated as ‘white devil’. He often used this term for his friend. Soval was either unaware or unconcerned. “The election is March 13th. That’s only six weeks away.”
“It’s more than enough time. Don’t worry so much.” Soval finished his bottle and gestured to Felix for another round.
“We better be right. There’s more than just our futures riding on this,” Lee stated ominously, himself aware that they would only get one chance to make this work. It was a calculated risk and was high stakes. His friends in China were watching anxiously to ensure that their significant financial investment would bear fruit.
‘One belt and one road’ was Xi Jinping’s multi-faceted new initiative for international trading routes, and he couldn’t afford for it to have early setbacks. The Sedois Islands, located equidistant from Africa and India, were a perfect Indian Ocean base for both trading and military uses. Lee, as president, would have his company construct extensive deep-water ports – financed by Xi – potentially providing Chinese military vessels with safe harbour. Lee would also continue his existing monopoly on tuna fishing whilst having guaranteed market access to China. It was a win–win for Lee and Xi. More so, Lee would be mirroring Xi. He would achieve his long-held ambition of becoming president, the sole leader, allowing him to govern as he wished. He would create a communist Sedois Island state based on Mao’s teachings. Lee truly wanted to help the general population to a better life, as long as it was done his way. His furtive link with China’s supreme leader was not unknown in international circles. Several spy agencies had Lee on their radar, including the Israelis, and Danny Zur.
Felix swapped out the empty beer bottles. Soval and Lee thanked him, but they waited until he retired behind the bar before resuming their conversation. Soval cleared his throat. “We have the workers’ permanent residency visas in place, so they are eligible to vote.”
“Good. That’s thirty guaranteed votes.” Lee knew his construction workers would vote for him. He would make sure of it. “The Chinese on La Premiere will vote my way, and I’ve been lobbying the other étranger communities hard, so I’m confident I’ll get their votes.”
“Sweeteners?” Soval pressed Lee.
“Nothing too tangible. Nothing traceable. Mostly promises about helping their businesses.”
“You were born to be a politician.” They both laughed. This eased the mild anxiety of openly discussing their political machinations. They would not deliberate in this detail again before the election.
The plan was devilishly simple. A numbers game. Like all elections. They would manipulate voters here and in rural areas on the main island. Lee would become Sedois Islands’ President on the back of National Party electoral district wins on La Bajan and in southern La Premiere. Really, it had all started decades ago when Soval arranged Lee’s citizenship because, of course, only citizens could run for public office. Lee hadn’t needed to wait the requisite five years before applying. Soval had seen to that. But that was in the past, and they were plotting the future.
With a non-compulsory voting system and a small population, the Sedois Islands’ election results could easily be swayed by modest swings in voting patterns. Recent increases in Indo-Chinese workers immigrating to the country had assisted Lee’s cause, although, for these workers to vote, he had to arrange permanent residency. This was where Soval’s cunning and subterfuge were critical. Through bribes and coercion, Lee already had the existing Chinese and étranger communities on his side. That should amount to close to ten per cent of the vote. With the islands’ traditionally high voter turnout for non-compulsory polling, what he really needed was to mobilise poor people to get to voting booths, as he would have guaranteed their preferences through payment or extortion. The second arm of the plan was to limit the number of opposition voters accessing polling stations. This was a different proposition and he was relying on Soval to arrange this on La Bajan. Lee would personally orchestrate events in the south of La Premiere.
Lee drained his brew with a satisfied slurp. “I better go, gweilo. The ferry is in five minutes.”
Together they walked along the ocean road to La Porte, the sun hot and strong overhead. They reached the pier as the ferry docked and disgorged its passengers. On the long wooden wharf, Lee bade farewell to Soval with a warm handshake.
Lee chirped, “Until we meet again!” All the pieces were in place.
Chapter 5: Dink
January 12th, 2010
A lot can happen in two weeks. Dink’s life had changed irrevocably since that fateful evening in Doha. Now that they were safely out of Qatar, he felt comfortable reflecting on the events of that particular night.
The Umm Salal jail was grossly overcrowded. It enveloped Dink within its ubiquitous dusty brown walls. The situation was terrible but not truly overwhelming. Dink was strong, confident, and athletic with an intrinsic dogged determination. He was better at most things than most people. He knew he would hold his own in any situation, including a fight, although he had rarely needed to do so. On the other hand, he was also wickedly drunk. He may have been significantly overestimating his current abilities. Fixing the swarthy man with his best dread gaze he mouthed, “You’re not getting my watch!” The man in question was a burly young bull eyeing Dink’s silver Tag Hauer and fervently tapping his own wrist. Dink felt that he could take him or, at least, bluff his way out of it. Without a common language, careless thoughts and gestures could easily be misconstrued. In this case, the intent was clear.
Marlboro red cigarettes seemed an appropriate currency for friendship and Dink had been handing out his small supply generously. Literally with his back against the wall, he looked out at a sea of men in the sprawling open jail. The cigarettes had ensured an easy early passage in the Qatari prison, but the climate seemed to be changing. Only one man appeared fixated upon his watch; however, it was a slippery slope.
“Irani,” the older man with the toothless grin opposite Dink offered, mimicking a fishing action.
Yep, got that, Dink thought. So, they are strayed fishermen not hardened criminals. That’s some consolation. The closest Iranian fisherman was a scrawny human specimen with kind eyes and a heavily lined face. The other men appeared to defer to him. Dink was all for making friends with influential people. Another proffered cigarette seemed
