Phenylalanine, the essential α-amino acid C9H11NO2 Jaq had ingested with her dinner of egg noodles, was undergoing rapid oxidation to C9H11NO3. Tyrosine, one of the twenty standard amino acids used by cells to synthesise proteins, was in turn oxidising to C9H11NO4. Levodopa, a short-lived intermediary, expelled a molecule of CO2 to make C8H11NO2. Dopamine brings a rush of pleasure as the reward pathways in the brain go into overdrive before oxidising again to form C8H11NO3. Norepinephrine is sometimes called the fight or flight hormone, but Jaq wasn’t leaving, and she certainly wasn’t fighting. There’s another response they don’t mention in the textbooks: sexual arousal.
A moan escaped her lips. Treacherous body. Yielding to the pressure of his fingers gently parting her legs, keeping his hips away from her as the stubble of his cheek grazed her inner thigh. A runaway chemical reaction had taken hold of her body.
Another α-amino acid from her food, tryptophan, C11H12N2O2, was undergoing hydroxylation to form the intermediate 5-hydroxytryptophan C11H12N2O3, followed by decarboxylation to produce C10H12N2O. Serotonin – one of lovemaking’s most important chemicals, chasing away our wits, making us temporarily insane.
And now resistance was futile, response was instinctive, primeval. Unable to help herself, she lifted her hips towards his tongue, flitting from one frisson of pleasure to the next. The warmth rose up, spreading to her core, rolling in ripples across her body.
Transported to a beach, warm sand between her toes, hot sun on her naked body, whole again, she surrendered to the swell of the ocean. At first the little waves nibbled at her ankles, then they lapped around her knees, the waves increasing in power until her feet were sucked from under her and she was floating.
Carried out to sea, the waves were bigger now, the warm water caressing her breasts, surging between her thighs.
Just when she thought the pleasure was over, a new swell rose, the summit just over the horizon. And then the aching and yearning started all over again and she was diving back into the water, swimming out through the surf to find where the clear green water crested, twisting to attain new heights as wave after wave of pure delight crashed over her.
Her pituitary was in overdrive, flooding her brain with giant molecules of C43H66N12O12S2 – a peptide of nine amino acids in the sequence cysteine-tyrosine-isoleucine-glutamine-asparagine-cysteine-proline-leucine-glycine-amide. Oxytocin for orgasm.
And bonding.
She had no idea how long it was before she washed back onto the beach, exhausted, utterly spent.
‘Sweet dreams, Jaq Silver.’
She could taste herself on his lips as he kissed her goodnight.
‘Goodnight, Timur,’ she whispered, drifting into sleep in his arms.
When she woke, he was gone.
PART VIII
FEBRUARY
Vladivostok, Russia
A bitter wind blew in from Siberia, bringing daggers of ice. The snow was falling faster now, dusting the branches of the swaying trees, settling on the window ledges of the palace where the old man lay dying.
He kept his eyes closed – what use were blind eyes? – as he took stock of his surroundings: a different room, the echoes suggesting somewhere smaller. A machine wheezed and beeped. The medical wing? A light breeze cooled his lips and something pressed against his face, as if his glasses had slipped, tightening across the bridge of his nose and wrapping themselves under his chin.
Whatever they had done, the pain had gone and his mind was clear again.
Only the guilt was left.
Guilt, Dmytry reflected, comes in many forms: guilt for things you did, guilt for things you failed to do, and survivor guilt.
He felt no guilt for the things he had done in his life, the decisions he had made. Nothing is without risk; everything comes at a cost. Take the fortune he’d made. If he had continued as a civil engineer when he returned from China, he would have remained in the one-room flat above an Irkutsk power station until he was carried away by ambulance to exhale his dying breaths on a trolley in the corridors of the state hospital.
It was his willingness to take risks, risks far beyond those allowable in his original profession, that had enabled him to accumulate so much wealth. More money than one man could ever need had passed through his fingers.
In the chaos after the Iron Curtain came down there were easy pickings, rich pickings. All you needed were connections. He bought a grand house, a big car, rented an office in a good part of town, hired young escorts to accompany him to functions – appearances were everything, and an older man with a young woman on his arm was the perfect demonstration of power.
That’s how he met Svetlana. He thought her different from the others, until she got pregnant with his child. After Timur was born, he gave her money to go away. He found a nurse, a gentle woman who reminded him of Nina, and let Timur call him grandfather. It was so much easier than trying to explain. He raised the boy by himself.
Would he tell the boy the truth? Why? What was there to be gained?
He felt no guilt for the things he had chosen to do. But guilt for the things he had failed to do, now there was a thing to haunt a man. He’d allowed structures to be built too fast, turned a blind eye to the shoddy materials used, left poor workmanship unchallenged. If the design was right, those things could be remedied. When the cracks appeared, they could be plugged by the right mix of mortar, the right depth of injection, the right supervision of the repairs.
If the design was right.
Could he have challenged the design of the dam? Supported his Chinese colleague, who, Cassandra-like, warned of the danger and was sidelined for his pains? Refused, point-blank, to strengthen the lethal structure? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been warned.
It was Nina’s father who cautioned him.
Dmytry toppled his king as he admitted defeat, cursing the distracting effect of his opponent’s daughter.
Dmytry and Wang Jun played chess every week. In exchange for teaching Dmytry the Chinese game of Xiangqi, Nina’s father insisted on learning federation chess. He had a fine, strategic mind and the two were closely matched, although Nina’s presence caused Dmytry confusion and defeat on more than one occasion.
‘This chess set, it’s not part of the collection?’
Wang Jun shook his head. ‘A good fake, but a fake nonetheless. So, Nina showed you?’
Oh, yes. Nina had shown him. He had to fight not to blush. Nina was slowly introducing him to the jade collection. And to so much more. His lips still tingled from her butterfly kisses.
‘The little water buffalo. That’s one of my favourites. Deceptively simple. Takes real skill to carve such flowing lines from such hard stone.’
‘Your collection is exquisite.’
‘It’s not mine. I’m keeping it safe until the museum is rebuilt and I can return everything. I rescued it from the flood.’
A biblical reference? ‘The flood?’
‘At the start of the war. You were too young to fight?’
‘I lived through the hardship.’
His mouth tightened. ‘What do you know of China’s war?’
‘I know that millions died fighting the Japanese.’
Wang Jun snorted. ‘It wasn’t only the Japanese. Our own armies contributed with their scorched earth policies. Or flooded earth, in this case.’
‘Tell me about the flood.’
‘The nationalist army decided to use water as a weapon. They breached the dam on the Yellow river near Zhengzhou and let the water pour out to halt the advancing Japanese.’
‘Ingenious.’
‘Disastrous. The peasants received no warning. Hundreds of thousands drowned. Millions were made destitute. Our own people.’
Such numbers were unbelievable. How could water, the stuff of life, cause such a disaster? ‘It’s hard to credit . . .’
‘Twenty years ago, and already no one remembers. And here you are, you Russian engineers, helping us to build new dams, bigger ones.’
�
�Stronger ones!’ Dmytry reassured him.
‘And what happens if the waters breach them?’
What indeed. His skin prickled. ‘Did it halt the invasion?’
Wang Jun shook his head. ‘The Japanese army changed direction and attacked Wuhan instead.’
Survivor guilt. That was the worst. He had survived where others had died. His inaction had killed them. So many of them. His bony fingers closed around the pyramid of white jade carved into a circle of dragon fire. He brought it to his upper lip, rubbing it across the skin where a moustache bristled, losing himself in the familiar texture of memory until the tears came freely.
When he told her he had to leave, Nina said nothing. Instead she unpacked the lovers’ cup. That day she told him the story of everlasting passion, transcending time and distance, overcoming geography and politics. She filled each cup with rice wine, and they drank together and made their vows.
The first time they made love it was slow and soft and oh, so sweet. She smelt of jasmine, tasted of honey. Her dark eyes were fathomless, filled with curiosity and devotion. ‘Be careful,’ she whispered, and he pulled away just in time.
Afterwards, he detached the two lids, small discs of white jade, threading a strand of fine straw through each eyelet. He fastened the circle of flowers round her long slim neck as she wept, and allowed her to hang the pyramid of dragon fire around his own.
‘One day,’ he said, lifting the cup, ‘I will make this whole again.’
They made love again, a sort of desperation overtaking them, losing themselves in one another’s bodies, forgetting everything in order to remember.
He never saw her again.
Except in his dreams.
Nina is hovering above the lake, folds of green silk billowing around her, her long black hair streaming up and out like a fan. He stretches out his arms. Every fibre in his body aches to hold her again. It has been so long. He is trapped, unable to move, but it is all right, she is coming to him, flying to him. He tries to take her in his arms, but something comes between them. He can feel it pressing against his chest as she moves closer. The lovers’ cup! She pulls away, leaving him the muslin-wrapped bundle. He is surprised at the weight, the warmth. What is this? He opens his mouth to ask her, but she is fading, wasting away before his eyes, thinner and thinner, her brown eyes huge, her cheeks sunken. The silk blows tight against her and he gasps in horror to see her ribs forming a cave of bones over a concave belly, her arms and legs stick-thin, her hip bones protruding. And all the while, the bundle in his arms is growing heavier and heavier. And starting to move. With trepidation, he peels the muslin aside. A pair of bright green eyes stares back at him.
A little mouth opens and starts to howl.
Dmytry woke to the murmur of conversation.
‘Mr Zolotoy had a very bad night, I’m afraid. He’s taken a turn for the worse.’
A muffled voice. ‘Can I sit with him?’
Was it the damn priest again? Offering false promises?
‘He needs to rest.’
‘There is something he asked me to do. Something that was very important to him. He’ll want to know right away.’
Dmytry’s eyes flew open. ‘TIMUR!’ The cry was lost in a pyramid of plastic, the breathing mask tight around his mouth and nose.
He struggled to free his arms, the sheets pulled so tight they imprisoned him, cursing at his own weakness, gasping for breath. Sparrow wings inside his ribcage beat a new rhythm. He fumbled under the bedclothes for the alarm. His fingers closed around the jade pendant. He pushed it aside, found the plastic button and pressed.
Footsteps approached.
‘There, there, Mr Zolotoy. Calm yourself.’
Dmytry swore into the mask. ‘Otvali!’
A warm hand squeezed his shoulder. ‘Dedushka, it’s me.’ Sensing his struggle, Timur loosened the sheet, allowing his hands to break free.
Dmytry pulled the mask from his mouth. ‘You found it?’
‘I found it.’
Eagle wings entered his chest, beating hard and fast, preparing for flight.
‘You have it?’ Dmytry held out his hand. ‘Here?’
‘Not here.’
‘I don’t have much time left.’
Timur squeezed his hand.
‘Before I can bring it to you, there’s something I need to ask.’
‘Ask me anything.’
‘You’re my father, aren’t you?’
Dmytry couldn’t deny it, so he said nothing.
‘And my mother?’
What point was there in keeping secrets now? ‘A girl who comforted me for a time.’
‘Is she really dead?’
Dmytry sighed. ‘The priest will find her, if you must know.’
‘Why did she . . . leave me?’
‘I made her go.’ Perhaps the truth would help them both. ‘I gave her money to leave you with me. I’m sorry.’ For the first time he meant it. ‘I couldn’t love another woman after Nina.’
He blinked repeatedly, his eyes smarting.
‘Nina gave me this’ – he held up the circle of dragon fire – ‘and took the circle of flowers. We promised to reunite them with the cup.’ And with one another. He scrunched up his eyes to stop the tears.
‘What happened to Nina?’
‘She died. Along with our daughter.’
Timur took his hand.
‘Ru?’
Ru. The river. Their river. ‘How could you know her name?’
‘I met a woman with bright green eyes, just like yours. She has the circle of flowers. Her name is Ru.’
His heart was leaving his body, taking off like a rocket. It wasn’t possible. Not after all this time. His voice broke as it rose in pitch. ‘Where is she now?’
‘A place no one has ever heard of, in the middle of Henan Province.’
‘Where!’
‘Banqiao.’
There was no escape after all.
Ice in his veins, frozen arrowheads speeding towards his heart. Powerless to stop his legs twitching, his arms flailing, the pressure on his chest like a truck slamming into him, squeezing him against a wall, the convulsions taking control of his body.
Suiping, Henan Province, China
The moon rose behind the mountain casting a pale shadow over the valley. A huge fair man with a shock of platinum hair sat at a table beside an open window, staring at a map on a computer screen. A woman came up behind him, moving slowly as if each step caused her pain.
‘You’re all leaving?’ she asked.
‘Timur gets back tonight. Time to move on.’
‘Can I come with you?’
Holger shook his head. ‘Jaq, you’re not well enough to fly. Stay here and recover. Speedy will stay with you. We’ll be back in a few days.’
She pointed at the screen. ‘How’s the tracking?’
‘The factory is still moving.’ Holger pointed at three blinking dots on the screen. ‘The green one, that’s the limpet tracker. I stuck it on the side of the barge you saw in Shanghai.’
‘And now it’s going backwards?’
‘Offloaded at Wuhan, going back to Shanghai with a different cargo.’
‘And the red one?’
He checked the legend. ‘A least five signals in that one dot. I hid a bunch of them inside the equipment.’
‘You got onto the barge?’
‘I threw them in.’ He demonstrated, raising an immensely long arm, swinging it back and flinging it forwards. ‘I got one inside the big metal tube’ – the extraction column – ‘and maybe two into the big red pots with blue edging’ – the glass-lined reactors – ‘and the big black cubes’ – graphite heat exchangers. ‘The rest probably bounced back into the river.’
‘Is the equipment still travelling by water?’
He zoomed in and checked the speed. ‘Yes, they must have offloaded onto another boat. The red signals separated at Jiujiang, were static for a while and now they are moving slowly again. Down the Poyang lak
e.’
‘And the turquoise one?’ The smallest dot was moving north.
He checked the legend. ‘The big wooden crate. Something fragile and precious inside, it was boxed up pretty good.’ He mimed throwing a dart. ‘I got it with an arrow-tip tracker.’
‘Speed?’
‘Faster than the other two. Probably on a truck.’
‘Show me the map again.’
Holger enlarged the map on the screen. To the south, Jiangxi Province was dotted with names she didn’t recognise: Fujuo, Longyan, Ganzhou. Then he moved the cursor to the north, back into Henan.
When she saw the names of the towns – Suiping, Zhumadian – she suppressed a cry.
Nineteen seventy-five. The Banqiao Dam disaster.
Now she knew where the precious crate from the barge was going.
But she had no idea why.
Jaq said nothing to Holger. She waited until the Masters of Disguise had left for the airport before going outside to find Speedy. He was smoking a cigarette in the moonlight.
‘How far is Banqiao from here?’ she asked.
‘Never heard of it.’
‘It can’t be far away. It’s in Henan Province.’ She racked her brains. ‘Near Suiping.’
‘South of here, a six-hour drive.’
So easy to forget how vast China was.
‘We need to go.’
‘Are you fit to travel?’
She’d been inactive for long enough. A new energy was flooding into her veins, wiping out the lassitude of pain. ‘I can manage.’
They set off early the next day, before it was light. Once they left the highway, the road deteriorated. Winding through fields of corn, the rutted, potholed roads made the last few kilometres a teeth-chattering, bone-shaking, muscle-aching endurance test.
Given the enormous size of the structure, she expected to see it from a distance, but they arrived in the small town of Banqiao without spotting the dam.
‘There’s some sort of memorial here.’
Speedy pointed to a sign and turned sharp left. The noise and juddering stopped as the car rolled onto smooth tarmac, passing through an avenue of trees, a well-maintained lawn on either side.
The Chemical Reaction Page 28