The Chemical Reaction

by Fiona Erskine

  ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘And what can you offer in our defence?’

  ‘If I’m given a promotion?’

  Their eyes met. He saw in Graham’s slow nod that he understood the compact.

  ‘I have evidence to show that Zagrovyl played no part in any criminal activities.’

  Graham stood and walked to the bay window, crossing through rays of autumn sunshine. ‘Is that a river down there?’

  ‘The Tees.’ Frank joined him at the window. ‘It rises in the Pennines, gives Teesside its name and provides that golf course with its water.’

  Graham turned to Frank. ‘Do you play?’

  The Zagrovyl president’s reputation as a golfer preceded him. ‘Not as well as you.’

  Graham checked his watch. ‘I need some time to think. I leave tonight, but I’m heading back soon. Can we meet again?’

  Frank turned away to hide the smirk of triumph. ‘To continue this discussion on the golf course?’

  Graham clapped him on the back. ‘Damn right!’

  A gust of wind whistled through the trees, brittle leaves rustling and rattling as they fell, swirling at the doorman’s feet as he limped across the car park. The man had the cheek to offer up the keys and point to where the car was parked. Frank had told him in no uncertain terms that he expected better service from a five-star hotel that enjoyed the patronage of Zagrovyl executives.

  He raised his coat collar and averted his face from the breeze as he descended the steps to his approaching car. Wind. The one thing about sailing that he’d never liked. The loss of the Good Ship Frankium might be a blessing in disguise.

  The doorman handed him his keys. Frank tipped him with a coin, a deliberate insult and a clear warning. He slid into his car and accelerated towards the avenue of trees.

  Shingbo, China

  Jaq tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. Traffic accidents might be common in China. All that sudden wealth, so many powerful new cars. Could this be a coincidence? Who was she kidding? This was her fault. She’d poked a hornet’s nest and let others take the sting. And what did this mean for Dan? If he’d really visited Krixo, a company so dangerous that everyone pretended it didn’t exist, then had he met the same fate as the smiling driver and spectacled translator? Mãe de Deus. Was he in the hospital as well?

  Morning dawned with a sickly yellow light. Jaq skipped the breakfast buffet, the smell of fish sauce from the noodle station too astringent for her early-morning constitution, grabbed a banana and went to reception to see about finding her own transport.

  ‘I want to hire a car.’

  ‘Check out?’

  ‘No.’ Jaq mimed the action of driving. The young woman behind the desk wrinkled her eyebrows in puzzlement and beckoned to a colleague.

  ‘Check out?’ he asked.

  ‘Avis? Hertz?’

  He looked blank.

  She produced a green Enterprise loyalty card in case he recognised the logo. ‘Car hire?’

  He shook his head. ‘Miss need,’ he paused to think, ‘China driving licence.’

  She produced her driving licence. ‘This one is international.’

  He shook his head vigorously. Not valid in China, apparently.

  ‘Then I need a taxi.’

  He brightened considerably.

  ‘Airport?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Train station?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where go?’

  Jaq took the city brochure and marked a cross where the economic development zone met the estuary, a few blocks east of the bridge. As close as she could get to the Krixo site from memory. ‘Here.’

  The concierge bit his lower lip, his skin suddenly paler. He reached out to take the map from her and retreated behind the counter as he dialled. Evidently there was no response from the first taxi firm, because he dialled a second number, speaking rapidly, then listening intently. ‘Howda, howda.’

  ‘Wait,’ he said, his smile suddenly forced, his hand shaking as he handed back the map.

  Jaq took a seat where she could watch the road outside the hotel. Most of the traffic was powered by motorbike, Vespa-style scooters with elaborate fairings, their riders wearing a sort of quilted straitjacket worn in reverse, the arms fixed over the handlebars, the inside protecting the front of the driver from wind and rain. The same noisy two-stroke engines were used to power three-wheelers, little trucks carrying sheets of glass and metal window frames or sacks of rice and bundles of leafy vegetables.

  Every time a taxi approached, she jumped to her feet, but one after another sailed past. Santos. She felt so bloody unprepared, deeply ashamed at her lack of progress learning Chinese, frustrated by the impenetrability of the most widely spoken language in the world. Was it the jet lag? Travelling too fast? Had the slice of her brain, or corner of her soul, that endowed her facility with languages been left behind somewhere over Outer Mongolia? She was reeling it in, but far too slowly.

  After twenty minutes’ waiting, she resolved to go outside and hail a cab herself. Could you flag one down, or did you have to find a taxi rank? Normally she did some research before travelling, but this trip had happened so fast. Now she felt ashamed at herself for spending the journey drinking and chatting to a male stripper, when she could have been reading and preparing.

  As she stepped into the street, someone called her name. Vinegar Face came rushing towards her.

  ‘You need to go somewhere?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jaq pointed to the map. ‘I want to go here.’

  She’d been willing to leave Krixo alone when this was a paid job for Sophie Clark. But she couldn’t ignore the chance, however small, that she’d led Dan into danger.

  Vinegar Face scrunched up her nose. ‘That is not possible.’

  ‘Why not?’

  The translator looked back at the hotel, casting around for some sort of explanation.

  ‘Roadworks. Closed off. Nothing to see.’

  Jaq gave up. She didn’t want to go to the Krixo site with Vinegar Face anyway. Invent an excuse.

  ‘I wanted to swim.’

  Vinegar Face’s jaw dropped and then she burst into peals of mirth.

  ‘You can’t swim in the river!’ She laughed. ‘It’s too dangerous. This hotel has a pool. Much cleaner, much safer.’

  Jaq slapped her forehead and made a joke of her idiotic plan. Stupid foreigner. Had she got away with it?

  The hotel swimming pool suddenly seemed like an excellent idea.

  Thinking time.

  The water was nicely cool, and she swam front crawl to warm up. Within a few lengths, the monotony of the stroke gave her freedom to think. Was it true that she couldn’t hire a car in China? What about one of those little motorbikes? Did you need a driving licence for one of them? Or a tuk-tuk three-wheeler? How to get hold of one?

  It was clear she needed help. Who did she know in China? There were other students who’d returned from Teesside, but no one near Shingbo. And after what happened to Mr Smiles and his driver, could she really put someone else in danger?

  Timur looked as if he could handle most situations. Was he still in Shanghai? Still looking for work? And what made her think he would drop everything to come and help her? Drop everything, he might. No; Timur would be too much of a distraction.

  There was only one other person who wanted to find out what had happened to Dan badly enough to take the risk.

  Lulu, his sister.

  Jaq dialled her number.

  Shanghai, China

  The roar of Shanghai traffic flooded into the room as Mico opened the triple-glazed window and stepped out onto a narrow balcony. The studio overlooked a canal, patches of green weed waving at her from the still grey water. She shivered; it was colder here than in Hong Kong.

  They were waiting for her back in the soundproofed video suite, five anxious creatives, all men, all eager for approval of the advert that would launch Hop!, the new light beer for women.

  ‘So, Mis
s Mico, what do you think?’

  She smiled. ‘Did Sun Chang approve the concept?’

  ‘It was his brief. D’you like it?’

  She pursed her lips. Her father couldn’t be allowed to lose face. On the other hand, he was a businessman first and foremost. The fact that he’d asked her to look at his pet project meant that he was in some doubt.

  ‘I think pink flowers, yellow butterflies and blue rabbits might be great for selling pencil cases, but we are talking about beer here.’

  ‘The target demographic is women aged eighteen to thirty-five, and the consensus—’

  ‘Hopping cartoon rabbits with big round eyes aren’t going to sell beer. We need to attract the rebel girls, or at least the ones who would like to think of themselves as rebels.’ If they didn’t have to study and work and clean and cook and take care of Grandpa.

  The publicist sniffed. ‘So, what do we need to change?’

  Everything. ‘How do we inspire a bit of daring, a bit of fun?’ She handed him a pamphlet. ‘We had a visit from a rather enterprising young man yesterday.’ Timur Zolotoy. ‘With an interesting value proposition.’

  The publicist stroked the purple border of the booklet with a manicured fingernail, his eyes widening as he took in the photos. He muttered something and pointed to the door. The other four men filed out of the room.

  ‘We can’t advertise with naked men. The new rules on decency forbid—’

  ‘The new rules on decency forbid naked women. They say nothing about naked men. Or about private clubs.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ He flipped the pamphlet closed and sat back in his seat.

  ‘Look.’ She struggled to remember his name and coughed to hide the memory lapse. ‘Women are sick of being told what to do. We aren’t stupid. All that execrable blue bunny rabbit advert tells them is that they are being targeted by cynics to make money. They have grown up believing that beer is bad for you, unladylike, something only men drink. Why don’t we use that, turn it in on itself? Make this campaign about independence, taking control. Do you see?’

  He scowled. ‘No.’

  ‘Hop! can be naughty but nice. Low-calorie, with a frisson of danger. Bubbles for the free spirit.’

  ‘You don’t like the advert.’ He coughed and looked around. ‘I don’t like it either. I was only following the brief. But we’re running out of time to make something completely new.’

  ‘Then let’s do it differently. Let’s use word of mouth and WeChat. Why not launch Hop! with an exclusive show that will tour China? Western men will take their clothes off for Chinese women. Hop! beer will be served in champagne glasses to female-only audiences. If we find the female social media influencers and excite them, we can associate beer with having a good time.’

  The publicist smiled. ‘You think it would work?’

  ‘I’m absolutely sure of it.’ She picked up the brochure and smiled at the picture of Timur. ‘News will spread like wildfire.’

  And provide the perfect cover.

  Shingbo, China

  The traffic flowed smoothly through the centre of Shingbo, the wide boulevards oversized for the population. For the moment, at least. Build and they will come.

  Lulu’s high-heeled shoes clattered into the hotel lobby. A cloud of perfume enveloped Jaq along with a spiky greeting full of recrimination.

  It was hard to believe this was the same woman from the café in Shanghai. The angular face was even more striking with make-up and her hair pinned back. Gone was the student attire, the bohemian clash of colours and styles: the woman who entered the hotel lobby was impeccably turned out in a fitted navy-blue dress, with a turquoise silk scarf that matched her soft bag.

  They found a corner in the bar. The same corner where Jaq had last talked with Mr Smiles.

  Lulu leaned forward, eyes shining. ‘Tell me everything.’

  Where to start? ‘The translation service cancelled.’

  ‘You should have called me.’

  ‘The Shingbo Development Corporation sent a car and provided a translator. Both men are in hospital now.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The officials claim it was a car accident, but I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I asked the driver to make a detour. I made him drive past the Krixo factory on the first day.’

  ‘What sort of place is it?’

  ‘I only saw it through the gate.’ Jaq described the layout as seen from the road, through the fog. A relatively new, well-designed and, judging by the large cranes, carefully maintained manufacturing site. ‘A typical high-tech chemical plant.’

  ‘Had they seen my brother?’

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to find out. When I asked to visit, the officials claimed the factory didn’t exist.’

  ‘But you saw it!’

  ‘Exactly. Which is why I think the driver got into trouble.’

  ‘And the translator?’

  ‘I showed him Dan’s LinkedIn photo. He was going to ask around, see if anyone recognised him.’

  ‘And did they?’

  ‘I don’t know. Both of them met with . . . an accident.’

  ‘Have you been to the police?’

  ‘I think the police are involved in some way in whatever is going on.’ Jaq told Lulu about the tall policeman and his strange behaviour; how he had taken away her Krixo brochure and warned her, in perfect English, to be careful. ‘I’m really worried.’ Jaq ran a hand through her hair. ‘When you first contacted me, I couldn’t believe that your brother’s disappearance had anything to do with Krixo. But now I’m not so sure.’ In fact, she was positive it did.

  ‘You think he’s in danger?’

  The danger might be long past. His disappearance might be permanent, terminal. But Jaq couldn’t say that to his sister.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Jaq, I still don’t understand. Why did he go to that factory? What did you ask him to do?’

  ‘Nothing!’ The frustration crept into Jaq’s voice and the word came out louder than she’d intended. ‘I didn’t ask him to go.’

  ‘So, why did you mention it to him?’

  Perhaps Lulu deserved a better explanation. ‘I’m doing consultancy work. I was curious to find out what sort of company Krixo is.’

  ‘And what sort of company is it?’

  A dangerous one. ‘I’m none the wiser. No one will take me there, and I don’t speak the language. I can’t even hire a car.’

  ‘You want to go to the Krixo factory now?’

  ‘I want to go to the hospital first. Check that those guys are OK.’ Jaq paused, scrutinising Lulu’s reaction. ‘And see if Dan was ever admitted there.’

  Lulu put her head in her hands.

  They took a taxi to the old hospital. Judging by demand in the crowded waiting room, the new hospital was badly needed. Lulu pushed to the front of a queue that snaked into the corridor. She returned shaking her head.

  ‘No chance of visiting your driver or translator. They’re in intensive care. Restricted visiting. Close relatives only.’

  ‘What about your brother?’

  ‘No record in his name,’ she said.

  What if he was brought in unconscious? Without ID? They wouldn’t know his name then. ‘We need to show them a photograph.’

  ‘I already did.’ Lulu pointed to her phone. ‘They’ve never seen him.’

  It must have been a rather cursory check. What if a different shift was on duty when Dan was brought in? What if he’d been injured? Hard to recognise? Jaq’s stomach twisted as she opened her mouth to suggest they canvass other members of staff.

  ‘We need to get out of here.’ Lulu grabbed her arm and marched her to the door. ‘Let’s go and pay the Krixo factory a visit.’

  ‘You sure that’s a good idea?’ Jaq said. ‘Think carefully before you get involved. This might be dangerous.’

  ‘We’re talking about my little brother,’ she said. ‘I’m involved whether I
like it or not.’

  Every taxi refused point-blank to take them to the factory address. Eventually they gave the address of the hotel, and then Lulu tried offering extra money mid-journey. The car screeched to a halt and the driver demanded they get out. They had to walk the last few blocks back to the hotel, Lulu hobbling slowly in her high heels.

  ‘Can you drive?’ Jaq asked.

  Lulu shook her head. ‘Only a scooter.’

  ‘Can you get us one?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  It was dark by the time Lulu had sorted out their transport.

  ‘Here,’ she said, opening her suitcase in Jaq’s room. ‘Put these on. We’ll be less conspicuous.’

  She handed Jaq a pair of cloth slippers and a dark trouser suit: the ubiquitous collarless jacket and loose trousers, too wide at the waist and too short in the leg. Jaq made a belt from a silk scarf.

  ‘Stuff your hair in this and hide your eyes.’ Lulu handed her a cap and dark glasses.

  ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Like a giant foreigner trying to pass as a local. Keep your head down. Drop your shoulders, hunch your back. Take smaller steps.’

  ‘Like this?’

  ‘Just as well it’s dark outside.’

  Lulu’s suit fitted her perfectly. Without her high-heeled shoes, she only came up to Jaq’s chest.

  They took the service elevator to the basement and slipped out through a storeroom. A three-wheeled truck was waiting for them, a couple of sacks of rice and a catering drum of oil in the back. Lulu handed the driver some notes in exchange for the keys.

  Jaq climbed in and shuffled along a bench to the passenger side. Lulu started it up, stalled twice and then narrowly missed a car as she accelerated onto the main road.

  ‘Maybe I should drive,’ Jaq ventured.

  ‘If you like. You don’t need a licence for one of these.’

  They swapped places.

  ‘Know where you are going?’

  ‘More or less.’

  Jaq possessed an inbuilt compass. She could sense direction – north, south, east and west – even without sun or stars to guide her. Having looked at the map, she had a good idea of the direction, but wanted to avoid the motorways in this comically underpowered truck. She headed for the river, doubling back when they found themselves on the wrong side of a tributary and had to retrace their route to find a crossing, but when she saw the lights of the Changtai expressway overhead she knew they were near.