He was smaller, with big bright eyes, like the lemurs in the Botanical Gardens this morning.
“I thought English tea time would be appropriate and should cut you enough slack to get back to the airport,” Richard said, as they walked to a table. “How d’you get on this morning?”
She smiled as she sat, giving him only the barest update. He knew better than to ask for more with others present. Their eyes locked knowingly. She would keep her secrets until later.
“What brings you to Hong Kong?” Mark Holloway asked.
“With London ablaze?” she smiled. “Where to begin,” she flicked her hair. “All sorts of things. If I had to pinpoint one story, it would be the murder of Adam Lee.”
“Ah, Lee,” Ken Woo said, knowingly.
“D'you know anything about the Lees? Someone led me to believe –”
Ken Woo burst out laughing and Mark Holloway began banging the table.
“Everyone knows the Lees,” said Mark.
“Actually to be fair, I didn't,” said Richard.
“All you care about is markets,” Mark Holloway teased his colleague.
“Tell me,” Julia asked.
“Your area old man,” Mark signalled for Ken Woo to take up the tale.
“Difficult,” he began gingerly. “They're a very old family in Hong Kong, and very big, so you have to be careful. Certainly many are respectable businessmen. Probably arrived from Guangzhou –”
“Canton,” Richard translated.
“...during one of the mass migrations.” Ken Woo nodded. “Like many, they followed traditional raffia trade, then moved into textiles. They diversified and grew. Lee interests are pretty ubiquitous.”
“All legit?” Julia asked.
“Ah!” Ken Woo stalled. “As I say, it’s a big family. Some branches run legit corporations. Others’ interests here in Hong Kong include gambling, maybe drugs and prostitution. The younger generation’s more interested in hi-tech crime.”
“So they’re criminals?”
“Tad hysterical, I'd say. Is the British Government criminal? It dealt in drugs.”
“Connections with Triads?”
Ken Woo smiled. “What does Triad mean? In Hong Kong everything is smoothed by personal relationships.”
“And Adam Lee?”
“Lee was no saint. More than that I couldn't say.”
“You've probably said enough,” said Mark Holloway. “You’ll give Julia nightmares.”
“Actually, it’s not my imagination that’s overheated. I saw a rather nasty scene at Connaught Road near the International Finance Centre. A bookshop was being smashed up, and a policeman was standing by watching.”
“Must’ve upset someone,” said Mark Holloway. “It’ll have come down from Beijing.”
“What can you do?” Julia asked. “It was a bookshop.”
“Nothing. If the police are there. Bookshops are particularly vulnerable. Beijing can’t stand criticism.”
“Other businesses too. Last week a company chief exec disappeared,” Richard straightened his chopsticks, as if trying to exert control over chaos.
Mark nodded. “Can you imagine Warren Buffett, or Bill Gates, disappearing without explanation? That's what's been happening to their counterparts in China. Social media said he was spotted being taken away by police at Shanghai's Pudong airport.”
“This guy’s huge,” Richard stretched his palms wide for emphasis. “You'd think untouchable. He would be anywhere else. Owns fund houses, hotels, some of the richest in New York, holiday clubs in the Med, online retail networks, high class stores in Bond Street. This is not a provincial Chinese company without influence.”
“It doesn't mean he's guilty of anything,” Ken Woo said as the food arrived. “I’m sorry you were upset Julia. Remember this is no longer part of a British empire. China does things differently. Crimes are swiftly punished. Witnesses can be “taken away” to help police and investigators build cases.”
“China is obsessed by corruption,” Richard snapped.
“Be fair now – with good reason,” Ken Woo spooned noodles into his bowl. “For all its many faults, the UK economy is one of the least corrupt. So many out here and indeed in the Middle East and Africa have been ruined by corruption. It was endemic in old China – a way of life in Hong Kong.”
“Not anymore?” Julia asked sceptically.
Her three companions laughed.
“Like beauty, corruption is in the eye of the beholder,” Ken Woo sniggered.
“We have the best Government money can buy,” Julia laughed, shaking her head.
“Steinbeck,” Richard spat. “No, wait a minute,” he corrected himself. “Mark Twain.”
“It's not power which corrupts but fear,” Mark Holloway offered.
“Steinbeck,” all three shouted in one.
.
CHAPTER 24
Late Wednesday August 11
JULIA HATED take-offs. The Cathay Pacific jet hit seven miles high in just a few minutes, setting a Westward course at 11.10pm Hong Kong time.
In London the Ritz is serving afternoon tea, she thought, wriggling down in her seat, ready to sleep. She was drained by her whirlwind of encounters, and sank quickly into a restless slumber. Cabin lights switched on two hours before landing when she was offered a breakfast of noodles or rice.
How did I guess? she swallowed a chuckle, reaching for the airline’s business magazine in the pocket in front of her. She flicked through its pages, picking at her vegetable noodle dish. Suddenly she dropped the fork as though it were red hot.
“Bastard,” she cursed under her breath. “Too busy for interviews with journalists, are you?” She stared at a profile interview with Warwick Mantel, smirking repugnantly from a full-page glossy picture. She was so cross she couldn’t read it, but rolled it up and stuffed it in her bag.
The plane landed in a rainy London just before 5am Thursday British Summer Time.
Usual chaos at passport, Julia frowned as she looked at the queues. It took more than an hour to get through, and run for the Heathrow Express. She emerged from Bank tube at 7am, and as per Ludgate’s instruction, walked quickly to Square Mile’s offices.
The streets of the City were hushed; eerily quiet, as though the inhabitants had suffered a collective shock. Even more than usual, people avoided each other's gaze, and hurried along eyes pinned to the pavement.
“I had not thought death had undone so many,” Julia shuddered, as the line from TS Eliot's Wasteland popped into her mind.
The office was already full – not a time for late excuses. Yet a creepy silence reigned. Reporters kept their heads down, staying below radar.
Ludgate saw her the minute she walked in and called her into his glass bubble. He wasn’t smiling.
“So you're back,” he said grimly. “Markets have steadied after yesterday's shock. Shame you weren't here, but Matthew did a stunning job. Good we had him.”
Julia smiled weakly. She expected to have her nose rubbed in her failure to cut mustard when it counted.
“No one knows where the next crack will appear,” he continued. “My guess is it won't take long. So all hands to the pump.”
“Now I'm back, you can count on me,” Julia beamed a bright enthusiastic smile. “Shall I make some calls and get a heads up?”
Ludgate avoided her gaze. “No, that won't be necessary. Matthew has everything under control. I'd like you to look at these stories. File as quickly as you can, and get your brain into gear. You’re back in London now.”
She felt sick, running an eye down the list of stories, as she walked to an empty desk. They were all subjects he knew she detested, and well-below her pay grade. Long-dated gilt movements, copper prices, business rate relief. These were stories for worker ants, not star writers. She had little option but to swallow her punishment and put nose to grindstone.
Petty games, games, games, she whispered to herself, head bowed low over her desk. How soon can I dig an escape tunnel,
she wondered, and go back to my office in Southwark.
Ludgate gesticulated to Hopkins to join him in the bubble. For half an hour, they laughed and plotted together like best buddies. When Hopkins exited the editor's office, he beamed with evident self-satisfaction.
Smug bastard, Julia clenched her jaw.
Her heart started to pound as he walked in her direction.
He paused at her desk and smiled down – an ugly leer.
“We're back are we? Shame you missed the fun and games yesterday,” he patted her hair. “Top team was here. Don't worry your pretty little head.”
I don’t believe this. She wanted to punch him in the face, but her mobile started to ring.
“Sorry I need to take this,” she said turning from him. It was Cody, wondering if she was back and when he could expect to see her in the office.
“I'm here for the time being. You keep cracking on with your investigations into that Trust, and get me anything you can about Triads operating in London. It's becoming more important.”
“Sure,” he said, hanging up.
She churned out the dreariest stories to the best of her ability. When it was time to pack up, one of the reporters asked if she fancied a drink. She declined, and watched as a pack of hacks left for the pub. Matthew Hopkins went with them, spreading an odious grin in her direction as he passed her desk.
When she was sure they had gone, she put on her jacket, and headed for the door. She stopped when her mobile phone rang. Michael Chen's name flashed up.
“I promised a heads up. We’re moving against First State Bank within the next six hours. Closing them down.”
“And the executives?” she said, walking back to her desk.
“Can I suggest you contact their PR agency? They have an office in London.”
Julia searched online for First State’s London office, and found the name of its PR. Great, it was an agency she knew well, and which owed her a few favours. Time to call them in.
“Let’s be honest Julia,” her contact Sophia said. “This bank is rotten, and I say that as its PR.” She confirmed everything. First State already had the fraud squad on its premises, and several executives were “helping with inquiries.”
“What does that mean?”
“Come on Julia. This is China. They’ve gone. Disappeared. To be honest, I’m glad it’s you that called. This is one occasion where publicity, or rather accurate coverage, may be more help than hindrance.”
“Phew,” Julia let out a sigh. “More bizarre by the minute.”
She put the phone down and walked calmly towards Ludgate, who was checking final pages at the other end of the office. He did not look at her when she spoke.
“That was the Hong Kong fraud office. I've a contact there now. He's tipped me off they're freezing First State Bank within hours. Car-wreck.”
“Criminality?”
“Oh yes. Crooked loans, dodgy developments, tax avoidance. Running funds for drugs and arms dealers, and just sheer incompetence.”
“OK.” It sounded like he was only half-listening, but she knew he was already rethinking the front page.
“Three of its executives have disappeared,” she landed her killer blow.
“What?” he turned to her now, but there was no friendly light in his eyes.
“Dragged across the border to China is best guess.”
“What d’you have confirmed?” he asked.
“All of it. We'll be first. It isn't going on general release until tomorrow. The executive stuff I've just confirmed with the agency in London, and my fraud squad contact is the real deal. If he says they're closing it down, they’re closing it down.”
“OK, I'll clear some space. Keep it tight... don't forget to mention Adam Lee.” She headed for her desk to start writing.
He called after her. “Don't think you’re out of the dog house yet.”
SHE FILED HER story, and got ready to leave. She was slightly miffed at Andrew's silence. No usual “well done,” or “good work”.
He must have missed me, she smiled to herself, skipping down the stairs. She stopped abruptly on the last step, as Matthew Hopkins re-entered the building.
Off to brown-nose with the editor, she thought.
“Sucking up to the boss are we?” he slurred, the worse from drink. “Good little workhorse. Next time try flashing your tits. Not up to much, but might work.”
“Fuck you,” Julia lashed viciously with her tongue, as she brushed past him.
“Stay out of my stories or you’ll be the one who gets fucked,” he shouted after her – an unmistakable threat in his voice.
CHAPTER 25
Midnight Thursday August 12
Epping Forest
JULIA COLLAPSED exhausted into bed, oblivious to a sinister scene unfolding a dozen miles East at a Girl Guide camp on the edge of the Epping Forest. A group of young girls were stirring. Outside their tent all was deathly still – apart from an owl, eyes like staring moons, who swivelled his head full circle and back again.
Troubled.
“You awake? Must be midnight,” said Grace. Like the first beat of a symphony, six torches switched on. The Panda Patrol sat up in sleeping bags.
“Who’s got the crisps?” said Lily. Beams of torches danced a merry jig around the tent, as each Girl Guide rustled with her rucksack.
“Why they have to take our mobile phones,” moaned Issie.
“So mean!” Brittany echoed.
“I've got the drumsticks,” hissed Minnie.
“I'm the chocolates!” squealed Coco in anticipation.
“SSShhhhh,” came the chorus back. “We'll wake Old Chocolate-face. Then we'll be for it.”
The girls unzipped their sleeping bags. They had been at camp for a week and were going home tomorrow. A midnight feast was their rite of passage.
“This can be our table,” Issie spread the rug her mother had carefully packed to protect her from the damp night air.
“What would Leo, Josh and Ryan say if they could see us now?” Minnie giggled. “Wish they were here.”
“We don't need boys to have a good time, hey Coco, don't hog the chocolate spread,” Lily slapped her fellow patrol member on the arm.
Grace was busy spreading Nutella nut chocolate thickly on sour cream Pringles crisps.
“Yummy,” she licked fingers coated in sticky brown goo.
“Anyone got any new jokes?” Minnie hollered.
“Shush,” hushed her five companions.
“You’ll wake the leaders up,” added Lily.
“How about...” said Coco, chocolate smudged around her lips, “a man entered a local paper's pun contest. He sent in 10 different puns, hoping one of the puns would win.”
Coco waited for someone to say something. When no one did, she delivered the punch line. “Unfortunately, no pun in 10 did...dada!”
The others groaned.
“Me next,” wriggled Issie. “Why can't a nose be 12 inches long?”
“It would be a foot,” they hissed in unison.
“I've got one,” Minnie took her turn. “Police arrested two kids yesterday, one was drinking battery acid, the other was eating fireworks.”
“Yuck!” the Pandas made vomiting noise.
“They charged one – and let the other one off.” They burst into giggles.
“Not bad,” Issie said, adding. “Grace – you've gone a funny colour. You OK?”
“No, I'm suddenly not feeling at all well.”
“Nutella and Pringles never a good idea,” said Brittany, who always knew best.
“I think I'm going to be sick.” Grace’s stomach started to make heaving motions.
“Errrrrr,” the girls moved as one to escape what was coming next.
“I need some fresh air...” Grace, stumbled towards the tent opening.
“I'll come with you,” said sensible Lily, who began fiddling with the tent opening to let her out.
“Keep the noise down,” said Issie.
“I'm being as quiet as I can,” Lily spat back.
The owl hooted, as the cold night air hit Grace full in the face.
“I can't hold it in anymore...” she bent double, holding her stomach.
“Not here − it'll alert the grown-ups.”
They lumbered in the half-light towards a wooded area – torches switched off. The night was clear under a full moon. The owl hooted again.
When they reached trees, Grace stood to her full height and steadied.
“Are you OK?” Lily stroked her hand gently.
“Just needed some fresh air, I think.” The nausea seemed to be subsiding, when suddenly, with a vengeance, her insides retched and heaved. She vomited violently.
“This is so embarrassing,” she started to cry softly.
“Don't be silly – you're supposed to get sick at a midnight feast,” Lily squeezed her friend’s arm.
“I need a drink, some water,” said Grace. “There's a tap over there.”
The girls crept as carefully and quietly as they could to the tap outside the shower station. Grace washed her hands, before wiping cool water around her face. She cupped her palms, filled them, and sipped.
“Ready to go back?” Lily asked, when she finished.
Grace shook her head. She felt queasy at the thought of returning to a clammy tent smelling of sweaty bodies and the debris of the midnight feast.
“I need more air. I might walk for a bit, clear my head. You go back.”
“No, no, I'll come with you.” They walked gingerly through the coppice down to a little stream, where they had washed their lunch kit earlier in the week, earning a telling off from Chocolate-face, aka Mrs Cadbury.
The owl watched their progress, turning his head full circle again, his body motionless on his perch. The water shone silver in the moonlight. They were about to hop over some stepping-stones, when the owl hooted again. Lily turned back towards him, and realised the early dawn was stirring.
“We'd better go back,” she said. “Feeling better now?”
Grace nodded, adding, “I'll race you to the tent.”
It was dark back in the coppice, but the girls sped on. Lily had pulled ahead, so Grace decided on a shortcut to head her off. She took a diverted path, which crumbled under foot, and sent her skidding forward, twisting an ankle. She bent to rub the injury, but looked up when she felt something dripping down her back.
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