When Joja heard the person on the other end mention his alias right off the bat without revealing their own identity, he frowned and hung up the phone.
Barely half a minute after the call ended, the same person called back. This time, the person's tone was more courteous, saying, "Please don't hang up. It was Mr. Huang who referred me to call you. He said you've got some good stuff."
Joja immediately realized that the person on the other end was likely the second-generation of an African investor, someone with a bit of family money looking to buy a few guns to play with in this lawless land.
This was a common occurrence in Africa. Among countries where it was legal to own firearms, it wasn't unusual for Chinese nationals to buy and use guns. Unfortunately, getting a gun license in Sudan was a bit tricky. Although it wasn't a big deal in Southern Sudan, where guns were plentiful but often too old to trust, the United Nations prohibited weapons trading with them. Moreover, the Sudanese military's security services, though a major source of income, were notoriously unreliable. This inconsistency in security was a boon for Joja's business.
The daring local and foreign mine owners or factory investors often bought guns to play with on site, occasionally going out to hunt animals for fun. As long as they didn't hunt endangered species, no one would bother them.
In a more law-abiding place, Joja would have blacklisted the caller immediately and changed his number. But in Africa, Joja had no such worries.
The caller spoke Mandarin, so it wasn't likely that Chinese police would come to Africa to cause him trouble. Plus, the caller had mentioned an old client's name, which could easily be verified. It was not something to fake.
Holding the phone in silence for half a minute, Joja finally spoke just as the other person was getting anxious, "Hold on a moment."
Joja then hung up and sent a message to the "Mr. Huang" mentioned by the caller. Within a few minutes, Huang confirmed that the caller was reliable.
With this confirmation, Joja walked into the now-cooler house, downed a large glass of iced water, rested for a few minutes, and then called the person back.
On the other end, the person sounded excited when they answered, "Wolf, no, Brother Wolf, I heard from Mr. Huang that you can get guns. My family has a gold mine in Southern Sudan, and they're sending me to oversee it. The security there is terrible, so I need to buy a few guns for protection."
Joja nodded slightly at the explanation and said, "Let me be clear upfront, my guns aren't cheap, and I won't be responsible if anything goes wrong."
"No problem, I understand the rules. As long as the items are good, money is not an issue. If there's trouble, it's my own to deal with. We're fellow countrymen, no need to screw each other over!"
Joja chuckled at the man's humor and replied, "You're heading to Southern Sudan? In a place like that, it's only right to buy a gun for protection. Nothing shady about it. If something does go wrong, the local militia and police in Sudan likely won't care where your gun came from. So, tell me, what kind of gun are you looking for?"
"What kind of guns do you have?"
"What do you want?"
Joja's tone made the man on the other end pause, then he said, slightly provocatively, "Got an M4? How about an M110A1 sniper rifle? If not, I'll settle for an AR-15."
Joja couldn't help but laugh. The guy was bold, asking for current U.S. military rifles right off the bat. Joja could make them, and even better than the factory versions, but these were the kinds of weapons that stood out too much locally, and many bosses wouldn't dare use them.
Soviet weapons were much better—an AKM wouldn't draw attention anywhere, and anyone could use an AK-74.
But from his experience over the past few years, Joja knew that American rifles were the most profitable. People treated an AR-15 like a treasure, and with the right accessories and a thousand rounds of ammo, they'd pay $30,000 to $50,000 without even haggling.
Thinking that this rich kid on the other end probably had the money, Joja smiled and said, "How about something even better—an FN SCAR or an HK 417? Any model you want, but it'll cost you."
No sooner had Joja spoken than the man on the other end exclaimed, "Are you kidding me? I couldn't even get a semi-auto SCAR PDW in the U.S.!"
Joja shrugged and said indifferently, "Believe it or not, it's up to you. But if you want it, bring $50,000 cash, and I'll let you test the gun."
The man on the other end hesitated for a moment, then said, "Alright, I'll give it a try. But Brother Wolf, we're not just making a single gun deal. Can you also deliver the guns to Southern Sudan for me? It's really inconvenient to carry them on a flight from Khartoum."
Joja frowned and said, "Delivery will cost extra. In this season, road traffic from Khartoum to Southern Sudan is impossible. The only way to get there is to charter a small plane, and that's not cheap."
"You can even rent a plane?"
The roads between Sudan and Southern Sudan were only passable during the dry season. In fact, in central Africa, only Uganda had developed transportation links with Southern Sudan, with regular road access. Other neighboring countries like Ethiopia to the east and the Central African Republic to the west had terrible transportation infrastructure, leaving Southern Sudan isolated like an island.
To get into Southern Sudan, one could either fly directly from Khartoum or fly to Uganda first and then drive. Driving wasn't impossible, but you had to wait until the dry season and be familiar with the terrain to drive directly across the savannah. Why bother with all that trouble when you could just fly?
Joja, amused by the novice questions from the other end, said, "You can check for yourself. There's a small town called Damazin in southern Sudan where you can rent private planes to fly directly into Southern Sudan. As long as your mine has basic road access, the plane can land there."
The person on the other end, after hesitating for a few minutes, said, "Let's see the stuff first. Brother Wolf, where should we meet? We'll need a place to test the guns, right?"
Joja glanced at the time and nodded, "Let's meet at 4 p.m. Follow the road west of Khartoum, and I'll be waiting for you by the roadside."
Without further conversation, Joja hung up and headed to the basement, which served as both his warehouse and workshop.
In the 40-square-meter basement, a 4-meter-long, 2-meter-wide solid wood table stood in the center, covered with various Soviet and American light weapons.
After some consideration, Joja packed an FN SCAR, an AK-74, and an AK-47 into several gun bags. Finally, he boxed up two M1911 pistols and ten boxes of various types of ammunition.
Once everything was ready, Joja sat at a workbench and began assembling and fine-tuning his guns.