Take A Thousand Cuts

by TERESA HUNTER

  Textbook method for killing germs. Yet the textbooks couldn't help when it came to watching five-year-old Ai choke to death. Laura moved from the sink in the corner of her small office to the fridge and took out an ice-cold bottle of water. She leant against the wall and glugged with the thirst of the parched. The whirring of the air conditioning unit drummed a background score to the painful scene she reran in her mind’s eye.

  “If only we hadn't gone to visit my sister over the border,” Ai’s mother had wailed. “If only she didn't live in a remote village. If only we hadn't visited the wet markets.”

  Laura's life was full of “if onlys”. If only people didn't get sick. If only Governments didn't lie. If only medicine could cure all diseases. If only everyone could afford the best medical care. If only sweet five-year-old girls like Ai didn't die. Ai meant love. Love shouldn't die.

  She gazed at the letter propped up on her desk. It would have to be opened. She stretched forward, and reached for it, twisting it in her fingers. She slit the seal as the door pushed ajar and her friend and fellow children's doctor, Kathy, entered.

  “Are you OK?” Kathy asked. “I'm sorry it was so brutal. Vicious way to die.”

  “She couldn't breathe, Kathy. I've always hated that sound of someone in the last throws, desperately gasping for breath. She was such a pretty little thing.”

  “She'd not long returned from Guangdong? We'll never contain this dreadful illness unless the Government comes clean.”

  “The Government says it urgently needs doctors.” Laura waved the letter at her friend.

  “Oh no Laura, you must be joking,” Kathy stepped towards her and snatched the letter from her hand. “You can't believe a word the officials say.”

  “They say it’s a small outbreak,” Laura shrugged.

  “A handful of cases? Then why do they need doctors? What when you get there? You’re Anglo-Chinese, from Hong Kong. Two things Beijing hates.”

  “The Chinese people don't hate us. They are kind and patient. I don't recall the Hippocratic oath pledging to only treat people who like us.”

  “When did you apply?” Kathy furiously dead-headed the orchid on Laura's desk.

  “Kathy,” her friend put out a calming hand to stop her. “A week ago, when the cases started coming in. We need to get to the source of the outbreak. Unless we deal with the source, we’re only treating the symptoms.”

  “Don't be foolish Laura. Think they'll let you anywhere near the truth?”

  Laura smiled kindly. “What I know is, I can't stay here and watch more innocent children like Ai die such a disgusting death. We need proper data and information. That's the only way we’ll win.”

  “That may be so,” Kathy slammed her hand against the wall. “But the risks are high. You could catch the disease yourself with no one to look after you. The local community could be hostile. You could end up quarantined for months. Maybe years. If you find the root, do you honestly believe you’ll be allowed to come back to Hong Kong and tell the world about it? More likely, you’ll be thrown into jail. You think the Communists will want news like that broadcast to the world? To even think about going is reckless, when doctors like you are in such short supply.”

  Laura shook her head. “Surely, you know me better than that,” her voice softened. “I never take risks.”

  “Oh yes you do. What about your days in high finance?”

  “Ouch, below the belt. I left that world a long time ago, precisely because my colleagues planned a gamble too far. Sometimes there’s no alternative. You have to take a calculated risk. This letter’s asking me to travel to Guangzhou next week.”

  “We can't afford to lose you,” Kathy repeated, frustration furrowing her brow. “The hospital won't release you. They won't let you go.”

  “They will, if the Party asks them,” Laura stretched to the calendar on the wall, and tore out the next few pages. “It's true, I hadn't expected to go so quickly. But the sooner I go the speedier my return.”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Kathy banged the desk with feeling. “I don't trust them. You’re risking your future on what? People disappear Laura. You must be crazy.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  When it broke, Laura said, “You’ve been such a good friend to me. Think how happy we’ll all be when I return, with lots more information and experience about fighting this dreadful killer.”

  “There must be another way,” Kathy stared at her friend, eyes brimming with anguish.

  “Give me your blessing. Let me do it for Ai?”

  CHAPTER 18

  5pm Tuesday August 10

  Hong Kong

  EVENING WAS BREWING a dank mist as Julia drifted across the water from Hong Kong Island to Kowloon. Lights from mega towers were already glistening against the dusk. What a strange mysterious world I’m entering, she thought, as she looked back at her friend and former colleague. He hadn’t changed – still the same cheeky smile hiding a razor-sharp mind.

  “Is it what you expected?” Richard grinned.

  “I don’t know what I expected. This is breath-taking, dreamy,” she paced back and forth across the deck of the Star Ferry, drinking in the beauty of Victoria Harbour. “It’s magnificent.”

  “Not even a dot on a map three hundred years ago,” Richard said, his brown hair rippling in a warm breeze. “Look at it now. One of the richest metropolises in the world.”

  “Despite the ravages of war.”

  “Phenomenal ability to bounce back. I'll take you out to the port before you go. You’ll never see more shipping in your life. The trade coming in and out of China will blow your mind.”

  She leant against the wooden bow. “Right now, I'd settle for some hot strong coffee.”

  “Tired?

  “Not too bad.”

  The flight was a manageable twelve hours, but the seven-hour time difference was taking its toll.

  “Any plans for tomorrow?” Richard turned his face into the warm wind.

  “Lots. D’you have any contacts in the medical world? Any hospitals or charities?” She noticed a couple of fellow passengers wearing white masks, which she always associated with Asian travellers. Inscrutable.

  He raised questioning eyebrows. “I thought you were here to write about the markets?”

  “I am, and to dig around Adam Lee.”

  “The banker found dead in Soho?”

  “What's the word here about Lee and his sudden death?”

  “Uncomfortable, that's the only word that springs to mind. With everything else going on...”

  When the Star Ferry docked, they joined the crush spilling off, then pushed their way through the crowds on Kowloon harbour, gathering on the Tsim Sha Tsui waterfront for the lightshows and other evening entertainments. Richard led the way down an arrow straight road, lined with glitzy high-end retail palaces.

  “Who needs so many vast stores? Can they all survive?”

  “Oh yes,” Richard nodded. “Shopping’s a national sport in this part of Asia.”

  Beyond and behind the shopping spreads were ugly towers where ordinary families lived. They reached Richard’s flat on the 25th floor of a soviet-style block after about twenty minutes. It was small, but comfortable.

  Julia collapsed on a sofa.”I'm trying to track down a woman called Laura Wan Sun. She works as a doctor here. I've no idea where.”

  “I could call a couple of people for you,” Richard handed her a mug of hot jasmine tea.

  “Thanks, that would be great. Meanwhile, I need to talk to the people at First State Bank. I also have an interview with Warwick Mantel.”

  “At Peak?”

  She nodded. “What d’you know about First State Bank?”

  “Nothing I could put into print,” he said, sitting opposite her. “Everyone knows First State. Remember BCCI that went bust in the 1980s?”

  “Bank of crooks and cocaine, we used to call them.”

  “Exactly, but the Bank of England happily gave it a thumbs up
for years.”

  “It was a different world back then,” Julia narrowed her eyes, remembering past battles.

  “First State operates much the same way. Deals with poor Chinese customers, from areas where they struggle to get a bank account.”

  “That's the front?”

  “In the background, powerful customers call the shots.”

  “Money-laundering?”

  “Almost certainly,” he nodded again. “Dodgy developments.”

  “Bankrolling criminals?”

  “Wouldn't be surprised. You need money to buy people, premises, stock and equipment, whatever kind of business you’re in.”

  “Watchdogs?”

  “That's the strange thing. They gave First State a wide berth.”

  “Could someone be protecting the bank?”

  “It's possible.”

  “Or afraid?”

  “That too.”

  “Could the Chinese Government be involved at some level?”

  “Seems unlikely. Remember First State is a Hong Kong Bank. Special Administrational Region.”

  “Local gangsters then?”

  Richard bit his lip.

  “There are rumours of Triad involvement, but don't get too excited. Everything in Hong Kong has rumour of Triad connection,” he said, standing.

  “Triads? Not nice people?”

  “Nice? Oh I think they’re nice enough…” Richard smiled at her, “…if you stay out of their way. Cross them and they are violent and vicious, with a particularly mean streak in revenge.”

  “Crime of choice?”

  “Well, they ran the heroin trade, and pretty much all the gambling joints on Macau. More than that...” he shrugged his shoulders. “I'd better get us something to eat, before we give ourselves nightmares.”

  Julia laughed. “Don’t worry I’ll sleep soundly tonight.”

  RICHARD returned with some noodles, but Julia found she was past eating. Conversation became hard work as weariness overwhelmed her.

  “Can’t think straight.”

  “You need to sleep.” He took the half-empty bowl from her. “Take my bed. I'll sleep on the bed settee.”

  Before she hit the sack, Richard gave her a map of the city, and pointed out her way back to Star Ferry. Then he showed her how to get to the Foreign Correspondents’ Club, in Lower Albert Road.

  “This’ll be a useful base for you to work out of while in town. You’ll always find someone to help you if I'm not around. Strictly members only, but I'll arrange temporary membership for you.”

  They agreed, unless events intervened, to meet there for a late supper the following evening.

  As she nodded off, Julia found herself thinking of her meeting with Warwick Mantel the next day. She had emailed his office details of her trip and suggested a time, which had not yet been confirmed. What would she ask him? What did he know about Adam Lee and First State? Had he heard from Stephen Chandler? What was his view of the meltdown in the markets? Was Peak robust and would contagion spread to Hong Kong?

  RICHARD had already left when Julia woke the next morning. She opened her eyes to see a note on the table by her bedside. Four words turn on the news.

  She fired up her VPN link to circumvent Chinese internet walls. For a moment, she couldn't take in what she was reading. While she was sleeping, Pendle Thrift, was rescued by the Government. Founded by anti-slavery Quakers, it was now owned by the British taxpayer. A number of white knights had attempted takeover during recent troubled weeks. All bids collapsed, once the books were opened. Toxic. Politicians barely caught their breath, when Martin's Bank, one of the big four, announced it would be merging with S&H, Britain's giant lender. Another rescue. Markets were in spasms of paralysis, but this time no dead cats bounced. This was Armageddon. The Chancellor and the Bank of England made bold statements aimed at calming worried investors. No one believed them anymore. Share prices continued burning.

  Chaos leaked morbidly from the US. Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, government-backed agencies guaranteeing the US mortgage market, announced they were bust. Federal Reserve pledged to pump more than $100 million into the broken system.

  “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” Julia cursed. The biggest story of her career had just broken, and she was on the wrong side of the world.

  CHAPTER 19

  6am Wednesday August 11

  Hong Kong Island

  SCOFIELD CRISP was the first customer of the day, when he entered Cafe Gray Deluxe at the Upper House Hotel – a prominent haunt for business executives. He ordered coffee, and sipped it slowly as he waited for Warwick Mantel.

  Certain conversations are more comfortable outside the office, Crisp thought.

  This Californian son of Silicon Valley was the oldest of those who had gathered at that fateful meeting at Sharks Bay. Then 30, he could have been a father figure – a role he was singularly unsuited for. A steadying pair of hands, he was not. He started out in foreign exchange, a high-voltage jungle of fortunes made or lost in a day. At Peak, he moved into marketing. His job was to sell. He loved new products and did everything he could to encourage the young whiz kids to design ever more fanciful tricks and tools. Did he understand what they were doing? Hell no. It wasn't his job to.

  Finance was a young man's game. Rightly so. Catch them early before they understand the danger or risk, or lived to see its consequences. He only advised caution, when he knew it wouldn’t sell. Memories were short. A half-life in this business might stretch to three years, if you were lucky.

  Had they been lucky? Silverman? Lee? Chandler? Laura? Oh yes. Incredibly lucky. They were well-paid for their work at Peak. More than the average Joe would earn in a life-time. As far as he could see, they got out with their hands clean. Silverman made a fortune with his fund company. Then Silverman was always going to make the Fortune 500. Formidably bright, with a pristine pedigree. Old man in money – the business in his DNA. Laura Wan Sun had an attack of conscience. Dropped out. Moved into fixing bodies instead of fixing futures. He bumped into her occasionally in town. Chandler was more of a mystery. Clever by God. The creative genius of the team, for sure. The man from Pluto. But he didn’t understand the psychology of markets, nor how humans interact. Why should he? He was just a kid. They all were. You can't learn these things living through rising bull markets. Only those who survive catastrophic crashes learn the lessons and bear the scars. Then there was Lee, the true child of this high-octane pleasure island – a place to make as much money as quickly as possible, while keeping a keen eye on an escape route. Lee’s destiny lay in a bullet in the back from the time he began trading football cards in the playground of St Paul's, one of the oldest schools in Hong Kong. He came from a long line of wheeler dealers. His family not only survived the Japanese invasion and occupation, but thrived. No one knew when the Lees first arrived in Hong Kong. Probably part of the mass migration during the Taiping Rebellion. Like all great entrepreneurs they grew until they had a finger in almost every pie from shipbuilding to plastics. The Lee empire built the first gambling Mecca in Macau. Rumour had it they were first into opium too, but then who with money and sense wasn't back in the day? Suffice to say, Adam was not the first Lee found dead in a back street.

  Scofield's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Warwick Mantel, a tall man, with a thick crown of dark hair, peppered with silver. He looked like a surgeon, a man you could trust. Never had appearance and reality been at such odds.

  “Good to see you, Scofield,” Mantel sat, oozing charm and charisma. He had been off island for a few days. It was more than a week since they last met.

  Scofield nodded and smiled a weak welcome. His eye went straight to the orchid the older man always wore in his breast pocket. A different species each day. Today he wore pink – the symbol of joy.

  “Good to be back in the office?” Crisp asked. A waiter brought coffee, orange juice and croissants to the table.

  “What's so important you wanted to meet me here for breakfast, with chaos break
ing out at home?” Mantel poured himself a black coffee.

  “UK still home?” Scofield raised a cynical eyebrow, before continuing, “I wanted to see you before the interview with the journalist. I need to know how far you plan to go with her.”

  “You’re my marketing guy. That's what I pay you for. We don't yet know what exactly she's interested in. She implied...”

  “Come all this way at a time like this, just for a chat about the markets? Surely you don’t buy that?”

  “Why not? Biggest crisis in a life-time.”

  “Not here there isn’t. Lee was found dead on her patch. Someone’s pushing her to get to the bottom of what happened.”

  “How can we help with that?” Mantel paused as the waiter came to take their order. Crisp declined to eat. Mantel chose smoked salmon and scrambled egg.

  “If you remember, I asked you to...” Mantel stopped as the waiter returned with plates. He glanced at Crisp from the side of his eyes. “Any progress?”

  “Beyond the obvious you mean? Gossip is growing daily. First State was a dung heap. Money-laundering, dodgy loans. Word is − it goes way beyond that.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Mantel gave a strange laugh.

  Crisp hesitated. He thought he saw a glint flick across his boss’s eyes. It disappeared in an instance.

  “Two stories doing the rounds. One – it's a Triad front, a money printing machine to fund their businesses.” Crisp looked around to make sure he was not overheard. “Lee's family were always...”

  Mantel reached for his napkin and wiped his mouth.

  “I know all about that,” he waved his hand dismissively. “First State had some rich investors from mainland China, too. Very powerful shareholders. The Communist Party wouldn’t tolerate any dealings with Triads.”