‘Beijing.’
‘So, what was he doing in Shingbo? And what’s the connection to Krixo?’
Lulu shrugged.
‘Lulu, I’m sorry to tell you this.’ Jaq swallowed. ‘Yan Bing gave me some bad news. He told me that the driver and translator, the ones who helped me, are dead.’
‘I know.’
Did that explain Lulu’s utter dejection?
‘How did you know?’
‘Yan Bing told me.’
So that was what the angry exchange was about.
‘Did you ask him about your brother?’
Lulu looked at her, a strange, almost calculating expression. ‘Why did you go without me?’ A ball of pent-up frustration seemed to explode from her slender frame. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the factory site? Wake me up so I could go with you?’
What difference did it make? Why was Lulu so annoyed? Was she projecting the fear about her brother onto something else? Or had Yan Bing given her a hard time for allowing Jaq to roam unaccompanied around the industrial estates of Shingbo? Hardly a treasure trove of ancient Chinese art. Why would he care?
Jaq shrugged. ‘I was up ridiculously early. I thought—’
‘Next time,’ Lulu hissed, ‘ask me first.’
What was this about? ‘Are you worried about the truck? Whether the owner gets it back?’
‘I couldn’t give a rat’s arse about the truck. Or the snivelling driver.’
Jaq recoiled at the vehemence. Dan and his sister had clearly been raised in different stables. The gentle student she had known and respected would always put others before himself. And look where that had led. A lump formed in her throat.
The driver turned south-west. Away from the centre. The wrong direction.
A prickle of alarm turned to a shiver. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I need to go home,’ Lulu said. ‘The driver will drop me off and then take you to your hotel.’
They travelled in silence for a while. The driver pulled off a motorway and drove along a canal into a leafy estate. Lulu got out at a metro station, Qixin Road.
‘I’ll call you later.’ She turned down a side street.
Jaq felt about as enthusiastic at that prospect as Lulu sounded. They were no further forward, and further apart than ever.
The road ahead was blocked by an altercation between a man pulling a handcart laden with plastic waste and an open-topped sports car. After an eternity of hooting and jostling for position the traffic became gridlocked. The driver swore, swung the car across the central reservation and turned back the way they had come, crossing the road again at the metro station to find a route that wasn’t gridlocked.
By chance they caught up with Lulu, walking beside a uniformed policeman, too engrossed in conversation to notice them. At a noodle shop, she opened a street door and disappeared inside. As the car passed the café, Jaq looked back to see the policeman salute towards the building. She craned her neck in time to see Lulu pull back from a first-floor window, directly above the noodle bar. A second policeman emerged from the street door, clapped the first on the back and the two officers walked off.
Something about Lulu had troubled her from their very first meeting. And now the strange little cameo she had witnessed proved that her gut reaction had been correct. Why had Lulu got out at the metro station and not been dropped off outside the flat she shared with Dan? Who were the two policemen? Why had one saluted Lulu? Was Lulu really who she said she was?
There was only one way to find out.
Shanghai, China
The black car dropped Jaq back at the boutique hotel. Jaq locked the apartment door behind her and started to run a bath. She pulled off the borrowed clothes, desperate to rid herself of the ill-fitting, coarse fabric, to wash away the dirt from the abandoned industrial site.
She laid out her findings in the basin and then sank into the hot water.
Dan. Where are you? Why did you go to Shingbo? What happened to you? She closed her eyes and lowered herself under the water. Had he been murdered? Had they dumped him in the river? Would his body ever be found? An image of a bloated corpse floating in the estuary, nibbled by eels and torn by diving gannets, made her cry out.
The sharp peal of a phone snapped Jaq from her ghastly daydreams. The strident bell of her room phone, not the soft music of her mobile. She stepped into a bathrobe and padded into the sitting room.
‘Hello.’
‘Madam, we have a call for you.’
‘Who is it?’
‘A Mr Gao Ding from SEITA.’
The translation agency. Calling to apologise? Well, she had better things to do.
‘No, thanks.’ She put the phone down.
She returned to the bath and washed, rinsing her hair in the shower. Then she cleaned the treasure trove from the Krixo site. The chip of turquoise tile that had once been part of a fountain, the bolt, welding subs, O-rings and fitting, the torn plastic bag with the Selkie label. She took pictures of them on her phone and then wrapped them in tissue before packing them away in a corner of her suitcase.
She started up the desk computer. Some search websites were blocked, but there were plenty of alternatives, although not many in English. She clicked through a sea of pictograms – elegant, fluid, beautiful and totally incomprehensible – until she found a tourist site with a metro map and plotted her route.
Jaq dressed quickly in jeans, T-shirt, jumper and boots and strode out in the direction of the metro station. At the metro, a group of giggling students offered to help. She got out at Qixin Road and took a moment to orientate herself. It didn’t take her long to find the noodle shop. A huddle of people waited on the pavement outside, the smell of ginger and soy borne on clouds of steam billowing from huge woks inside.
The lights were on in the flat above.
Jaq dialled Dan’s number. Lulu answered.
‘It’s Jaq. I’m outside.’
Lulu appeared at the window. A hand flew to her open mouth. Was it surprise or fear? Perhaps both.
‘Wait.’
Jaq rattled the street door, but it was locked. The noodle bar customers eyed her with frank curiosity.
After several minutes, Lulu emerged from the main door and closed it behind her. Her expression had changed in the time it took her to descend a flight of stairs. The shock was replaced by a broad smile of welcome.
‘Jaq,’ she trilled. ‘I was about to call you.’
‘You have some explaining to do.’
‘I have news . . .’ Lulu said.
‘How did you get Dan’s phone?’
‘Listen . . .’
‘You’re not Dan’s sister, are you?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lulu protested.
‘So, who are you? What are you doing in his flat?’
‘I found him. He’s OK.’
Jaq reeled back. ‘You found Dan?’
‘You were right. It was all a misunderstanding. He never went to Shingbo, never visited the Krixo factory.’
Struck dumb with relief, Jaq let out a long sigh.
‘He met a monk on the train. He didn’t get off at Shingbo. They got talking and he stayed on the train, went with the monk to a Buddhist retreat, a mountain island.’
Wait a minute, wasn’t this all a bit too neat, too convenient? ‘I have to see him, talk to him.’
‘Of course! He’s just getting dressed.’
Jaq stared at Lulu and then up at the open window. ‘He’s here?’
Lulu nodded and opened the door. Jaq pushed ahead of her, taking the stairs two at a time, bursting into the flat at a sprint. If you could call it a flat. It was just a one-room bedsit: a worktop barely wide enough for the rice cooker and single gas burner on top, the fridge below. A futon rolled under a table with two chairs, and sitting in one of them, a young man in a bright orange robe.
‘Darling, look who is here!’ Lulu was behind her.
‘Dr Silver.’ He looked up and made a little bow. ‘I am very sorry to
have caused you so much trouble.’
She took in his shaved head, sunken eyes, gaunt cheeks and bare feet. A shadow of the student she had once known, but there was no disguising his lilting, musical voice. Ning Dan. No doubt about it; she had found her old student. Alive. Graças a Deus.
Jaq came forward, pulling out the other chair, removing an ice-blue velvet roll which she placed on the table before sitting down. ‘Where have you been? Everyone has been so worried.’
‘I haven’t been well.’ Indeed, he looked terrible, pale and drawn. Always a thin boy, he was now almost skeletal. There was a grey tinge to his skin.
‘I had to get away from the pollution in Shanghai. All the disulphur oxide was making me ill.’
Disulphur oxide? Did he mean SO2 – sulphur dioxide? Don’t be a pedant.
‘How are you feeling now?’ Jaq asked.
‘Much better.’ Dan ran the palm of his hand over his shaved head. Jaq could almost feel the soft bristles. ‘Remember how you used to tell us about the dangers of bottling things up? How if you weren’t careful, the stress level rises until breaking point? Like in 1975.’
What on earth was he talking about? She lectured students on process safety. She’d never been a pastoral tutor. What was up with the guy? Poor Dan, he sounded positively deranged.
‘That’s why I had to get away from the city.’ He turned to his sister. ‘Lulu, you need to be careful. They put out a 71-71 alert last week. They found iodine, promethium, osmium, tellurium, even rhenium in the air!’
‘That’s enough chemistry!’ Lulu softened the sharp rebuke with a nervous laugh. ‘Tell Dr Silver where you were all this time,’ Lulu demanded.
‘A monastery!’ He wrinkled his mouth, but the intended smile failed to materialise. ‘The ideal place. Solitude. Meditation.’ He wrote something on a pad in front of him. ‘And puzzles. Lots of puzzles.’
He bent his head and concentrated. Scribbling numbers, row upon row of numbers. Manic. Frantic. Lulu walked round behind him and removed the pen and pad. She whispered something to him and pointed to the ice-blue velvet roll on the table.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I get confused sometimes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ Jaq asked.
He bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry. Oddo–Harkins rule – no outside contact allowed.’
Oddo–Harkins rule? Surely that was related to chemistry, not visiting hours. Poor lad, he was in a bad way.
‘You’re still not well, are you?’ Lulu put into words what Jaq was thinking.
‘Dan, is there anything I can do?’
‘You’ve done what you can.’ He tried to smile, but his mouth trembled. ‘Lulu will care for me now.’
A flicker of triumph passed across Lulu’s face before her sharp features softened to an expression of infinite tenderness. She bent forward and wrapped both her arms around Dan. He closed his eyes and leaned back into her embrace, appearing to fall asleep. Jaq looked round at the tiny room with space for only one bed. And the penny dropped.
Of course, Lulu and Dan were lovers, not siblings. Cohabitation before marriage was still frowned upon in China. That explained so much. The rest didn’t matter.
‘I’ll care for him now,’ Lulu whispered.
‘He needs a doctor.’
‘I’ll take him myself.’
Dan’s eyes opened.
‘You should go now, Dr Silver,’ he said. ‘Stay safe.’
Occam’s razor. The simplest explanation is the most likely. Dan had only recently lost his parents. He had needed time and space to grieve. The more conventional your outward behaviour, the more rigid your response to trauma, the more likely you are to snap. Was it surprising that the poor boy had suffered a breakdown? He’d met a sympathetic monk on a train and asked for help. There was nothing wrong with that. Lulu had overreacted, and so had Jaq.
Just a false alarm.
All that mattered was that Dan was safe, her mission for Sophie Clark was complete and now she could go home.
Vladivostok, Russia
Snow was falling on Vladivostok. A flurry of fine white crystals that melted as they hit the poorly insulated old buildings. The transition from autumn to winter swift and irreversible. A tram turned the corner at the top of the hill, a shower of sparks glittering against the grey sky as the diamond-shaped pantograph bounced against the overhead cable.
Dmytry Zolotoy sat at the window of the hospice, wrapped in a blanket, ears alert to the slightest noise that penetrated the acoustic insulation of the snow: the screech of metal on metal as the tram braked, the pneumatic hiss of the opening doors, the crunch of size twelve boots on fresh snow with that familiar gait – limber, athletic, purposeful – emerging from the narrow street, crossing the road and striding across the frozen lawn, greeting the security guard with a musical, deep-voiced ‘Dobriy den’.
A surge of impatience flooded his atrophied veins at the prospect of Timur’s return. At least there was one thing in his life that he had done right. Champion swimmer, an athlete who made money from doing what he was good at, a boy any father would be proud of.
And he brought news.
He pictured Timur removing his overcoat and pulling off his snow boots, waiting for the arpeggio of soft-shoed feet on the marble stairs, the pause at the door, the rap of swim-soft knuckles on wood.
‘Voyti! Zakhodi,’ Dmytry shouted.
The door opened. Visitor slippers padded across on the polished wooden floor. The scent of menthol followed Timur into the room, mixed in with coffee and apricots.
‘Breakfast at Pelmetov?’
‘You know all my secrets, Dedushka.’ A warm hand tucked the blanket round Dmytry’s lap where it had fallen away. Dmytry tilted his face for the embrace. Velvet lips on dry skin.
‘I saw you at the window. How are your eyes?’
Dmytry turned his head away. ‘No change.’
‘You were waiting for me?’
‘Ever since I got your news.’ Dmytry grasped his hand. ‘You found the buyer?’
‘I found the buyer.’
‘Will they sell?’
‘It’s complicated. More like a trade.’
‘Trade? For what?’
‘A jade horse, elephant, dragon, water buffalo . . .’
As Timur listed the objects, Dmytry’s heart beat faster. How was this possible? Was someone playing games with him? It must be a coincidence. This couldn’t be Nina’s collection.
‘I know where to find them.’
‘But how will you . . .?’
‘We have events coming up.’
‘Championships?’
‘More like demonstration events.’ Timur coughed. ‘Followed by an all-China tour.’
Dmytry felt a tingle of excitement. Could the magnificent boy really do in a few months what this old man had failed to do in fifty years?
‘You would do this for me?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
No, best was not good enough. This was the last chance. This time they must succeed.
‘The lovers’ cup is a link to your father.’ The trouble with lies is that they take on a life of their own. The time for truth had long gone. Why hadn’t he told the boy everything while he was still young? Because he was afraid. If Timur knew the truth, might it change him? How could it not? With all that baggage, could he have grown into the fine, confident young man he had turned out to be? A surge of irritation festered into cruelty. ‘And unless we find it, we can never be sure who he really was.’
‘Then I’m going to get it back.’ Timur clenched his fists. ‘Whatever it takes.’
PART VI
DECEMBER
Durham, England
The squat grey cathedral loomed over a river wreathed in mist. The train slid to a halt at Durham station and Jaq got out, shouldering her bag and setting a brisk pace for the exit.
She arrived early at CCS, hoping to catch Vikram before the meeting, but he’d already left for a client lunch. Jaq accepted the
offer of coffee from the young man at reception.
‘Hello, Dr Silver.’ He smiled. ‘How was your trip to China?’
She hesitated, but there was no malice in the open, friendly face.
‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘Do you have an empty office I could use while I wait?’
‘Of course.’
He carried her coffee to a small room, bare except for a desk and chair, closing the door as he left.
She took a seat and opened her bag, extracting the report for Krixo with the evidence in sealed bags, followed by a bundle of letters, mainly bills that had arrived in her absence, plus this morning’s delivery: an overdraft warning from the bank and a handwritten missive from Dan. She opened the rice paper envelope and read the letter again.
Dear Dr Silver,
My sincere apologies for causing you such trouble and inconvenience during your recent visit to China. I am greatly ashamed that I was unable to act as a host and show you around my city.
As you know, I have not been well. Please ignore any messages you received from me during my illness. I have seen a doctor and I’m much better now. I have decided to return to the monastery to complete my recovery.
No outside contact is permitted.
I am sure you will understand.
Respectfully yours,
Ning Dan
She bit her lip. The disquiet she felt on first reading the letter wouldn’t go away. A conspiracy of silence. Was she imagining things? Dan had asked her to leave him alone. Why did that make her uneasy?
She sighed and laid out the evidence bags in a row beside the report. The only tangible object that was even remotely convincing was the torn plastic bag with the Selkie logo on a label containing a barcode and sixteen-digit number.
A high-tech engineering company, Selkie – the name was a play on the word seal – made specialist mechanical seals in a factory not far from Teesside. She flicked through her contacts until she found Martin’s number. Before he joined Selkie, they had studied together, classmates in King’s Buildings when she was doing her MSc in Edinburgh.
Martin sounded delighted to hear from her, bombarding her with questions about what she was up to. If only she knew.
The Chemical Reaction Page 16