The Chemical Reaction

by Fiona Erskine

  One last desperate effort.

  BOOM!

  Jaq sprang from the tub and walked through the jagged hole where the door had been, crossed the office into the main saloon and stepped up into the helm station. Looking aft, she could see the shock wave had thrown one of the police guards into the water, and the other was attempting to rescue him, throwing a floating ring on a rope from the pier.

  The key was in the ignition. She turned it and the engine spluttered into life.

  ‘Tíngzhĭ!’ A gunshot cracked and a bullet whistled overhead.

  Jaq pushed the throttle forward and the boat took off. A moment of resistance as the boat reached the end of its tether and was held by the dock, but the flimsy structure and rotten supports were no match for the powerful engine. The boat broke free, bounding across the water with three metres of the severed wooden jetty trailing behind.

  The two policemen were hanging on. One was in the water trailing behind the severed boardwalk, clutching a red and white ring on a rope. The other was still dry, both arms wrapped around a wooden post that flipped and bucked and leapt in the water as the motorboat gathered speed.

  Jaq set the course and flicked on the auto-helm. Clipped to the bulkhead beside the wheel was a fire axe. She walked calmly to the back of the boat and raised the axe.

  Could they swim?

  The policemen shouted in protest.

  They were close to the dam now, near the point where those men had thrown Speedy into the water. Their chances were the same as his, no better and no worse. If they couldn’t swim, they would be dead in a few minutes. If they could swim, they would still be conscious when the powerful current sucked them under and carried them into the giant turbine to be minced by the rotating blades.

  The closest guard, still bouncing around on his slatted wooden monoski, pulled a gun from his holster and pointed it at her.

  ‘Me or you,’ Jaq muttered, and brought the axe down with all her might. ‘This one’s for you, Lai Lang.’ Mr Smiles. A bullet whistled past her ear. ‘And this one’s for you, Pang Mo.’ The Shingbo driver. It took three blows to sever the rope. ‘This one’s for you, Peng Ran.’ Mr Speedy. The split rope flew into the air. Jaq turned her back and returned to the helm, swinging the boat round towards the power station.

  Ignoring the screams from the water, Jaq Silver entered a narrow creek and approached the bungalow with a turquoise fountain that had vanished from Shingbo and rematerialised a thousand miles away on the shores of the Banqiao Dam.

  Shanghai, China, 2005

  Ru first saw Xe Lin in Shanghai. They didn’t meet, both preferring to keep a low profile.

  On the day of the presentation, the hotel ballroom was buzzing with people anxious to attract attention. Suited lackeys from the management consultancy and investment banks, young men, green about the gills, meeting and greeting the great and the good and pinning name badges on them. Young women in high heels who could barely walk, breasts thrust forward, mincing along with exaggerated hip movements.

  Ru, in her loose trouser suit and cloth slippers, watched them with dismay. Why did women do this to themselves? Why would anyone voluntarily squeeze their feet into such instruments of torture? As bad as foot-binding. Long outlawed in China, there were still a few old women with lotus feet, three inches long, their feet repeatedly broken and bound as children to prevent normal growth. A barbaric practice prohibited by the communist party. And yet, high heels achieved the same effect, stopping women from moving freely, reducing them to erotic objects.

  Ru slipped into the audience unseen and found a place in the shadows. Despite the number of chandeliers, there were plenty of shadows.

  The event opened with an effusive introduction from the Inward Investment Directorate, followed by a series of dull official speeches. Finally, they invited Charles Clark, founder of Krixo, and his translator, Xe Lin.

  Charles Clark himself did not impress: an ugly old man, tall and bony with childish round eyes. Another naive Western businessman who claimed to be looking for a Chinese partner. He clearly had no idea what that entailed. For all the potential Chinese investors in the room, the proposition was purely defensive. Krixo was making headlines with a prototype technology for recycling neodymium and dysprosium. If it worked, it would have a disastrous effect on metal prices. That is, unless it was carefully manipulated by someone who understood the market. It was clear from the start that Clark was an idealist, besotted with the science, cavalier about the commercial implications to the point of imbecility. How can smart people be so stupid?

  Xe Lin, on the other hand, was fascinating. Not just a translator, it turned out, but also a research chemist with a doctorate in the chemistry of interest. Small and slender, dark hair cut short, modestly dressed in flat shoes, she surprised Ru when she spoke with complete authority: she had a voice that could command armies. Ru leaned forward, entranced. Xe Lin was quick and graceful, but also smart and savvy, the ideal person to do business with. Long before the presentation was over, Ru had decided.

  Of course, the deal didn’t run smoothly. What deal ever does, when investment banks, management consultants, tax accountants, lawyers and politicians are involved? It dragged on and on, with 175-page contracts full of gibberish, decorated with meaningless official stamps, and all the while Ru sat back and waited until the leeches and the parasites had sucked their fill.

  When the one-page summary of practical arrangements was presented, the Englishman nearly walked away, complaining that if he was never to meet his joint venture partner in person, then the deal was off.

  Bluster. Charles Clark was not a complete fool. The deal was not off. The art of negotiation is . . .

  Timing.

  Charles had many strange ways. He appeared oblivious to the fact that, as boss of the organisation, his job was to know what to do, and then shout at the workers until they did it. Xe Lin quickly became the de facto boss. And she was brilliant. Endowed with an extraordinary insight into what made others tick, she had the gift of making other people want to do what needed to be done. Most of the time. And when things didn’t go to plan, she could be swift and ruthless. A steel fist in a velvet glove.

  Did she guess? She said not, but it was hard to believe, given what followed. Was she especially empathetic? Or simply part of a new generation who had never been exposed to a relentless diet of brutality from an early age? Perhaps the first generation in China’s violent history who had been raised with unconditional love. A single child, a girl at that, she had been allowed to live. Someone must have loved her to take that risk.

  And she gave that love back. Even to Ru, the crippled old woman who cleaned the lab.

  One night, Xe Lin was working late. She’d been running an experiment, and something had gone right. Such was her excitement that she’d danced around the room, grabbing Ru and whirling her around, whooping with excitement. And then pausing, apologising, before explaining. Explaining her joy to Ru as if Ru mattered. Treating her as an equal, a fellow human being. Not a cripple. Not a useless old woman. Xe Lin wanted nothing from Ru. And Ru was content to ask for nothing in return.

  Her love was as pure as spring blossom. She loved, protected and cherished Xe Lin as if she were her own daughter.

  And even if Ru had loved her in another way, Xe Lin only had eyes for Charles. What she saw in him, no one could understand, but they were good together.

  For Ru, Charles was convenient. A simple, academic man. A trusting scientist. No business sense or understanding of the real world. No feel for how China worked. The perfect joint venture partner. He didn’t even notice that Ru was building a second factory, mirroring everything that went on at Shingbo. Well, not everything. Charles insisted on Western-style waste; what Ru built in Gangzou was simpler, more efficient.

  When Charles Clark died, Xe Lin was inconsolable. She wanted to go to England, to be at the funeral. That’s when Ru stepped in. To protect her.

  The poison that killed Charles Clark was meant for Xe Lin
.

  Ru brought her back home.

  Suiping, Henan Province, China

  The house was perfectly camouflaged. Not only did the bulk of the hydroelectric power station mask it from the north and east, but the folding geology of a narrow creek also hid it from the south and west.

  The fountain had moved to a location completely unlike that of the Shingbo industrial park, where Krixo had once announced its presence with pride and giant lettering. Was this where Wang planned to rebuild the factory? The site had the two things it needed most – electrical power and water. But would a factory be allowed here?

  In the rush to industrialise China, the obvious place to site power- and water-hungry factories was beside hydroelectric power plants and their watercourses. But the danger of flooding exacerbates the risk of chemical release. This looked less like a factory site and more like someone’s private estate.

  Was Dan here? Only one way to find out.

  Jaq cut the engine, tethered the boat against a wooden pole and jumped ashore. A modern bungalow, roofed in traditional style with ridged tiles and flying eaves, was set back from the lake, guarded by a fence and gatehouse. A security guard emerged.

  ‘Ni hao!’ Jaq held up her arms to show she meant no harm.

  The security guard walked towards her, surprise turning to bemusement as she rattled the fence.

  ‘May I come in?’

  He retreated into his office to make a call, casting glances at her as he spoke into a telephone. Eventually he opened the gate and pointed to the main building, accompanying her through an arch across a courtyard and into a room as wide as the house, with a polished floor, exposed beams and a full-height picture window.

  The room was simply furnished: a wooden table and chairs; hanging scrolls on the walls with guóhuà paintings, black ink on cream silk, depicting dramatic landscapes; a group of two padded chairs and a sofa set round an Aubusson rug in front of the window, its grand view of the reservoir diffracted through vertical blinds of pale green silk.

  Another security man entered.

  ‘Yes?’ he barked.

  ‘I’m here to see Ning Dan.’

  ‘Why?’

  Why? Why was she here, beside the Banqiao hydroelectric power station, when she should be building wind turbines in Shetland? Jobless in the centre of Henan Province when she should be earning money to meet her obligations in the far north of Scotland. Why? Why had she thrown caution to the wind to return to China? Penniless? Clueless?

  Because of Sam.

  Because she’d failed her brother when he needed her most. Because she’d made the wrong decision when he’d been too ill to make his own.

  She’d put her trust in others, those who were meant to be in charge, those whose job it was to protect the weak and vulnerable: Sam and Jaq, two lost children trying to find their parents in the middle of a civil war.

  She’d taken Sam to safety, to a refugee camp on the border.

  ‘You’ve done what you can,’ they told her. ‘We’ll care for him now.’

  ‘Go, Jaq,’ he said. ‘Stay safe.’

  He’d put his trust in her and she’d let him down.

  The camp was crowded, filthy, violent, full of desperate people fighting to survive. The hospital was overrun. Sam’s bullet wounds became infected.

  There was something about Dan that reminded her of Sam. The way he trusted her. A level of trust that was unearned, undeserved, unjustified.

  And in Sam’s case, fatal.

  How could she live with herself if she did nothing?

  ‘I’m here to find Ning Dan.’

  The man shook his head. ‘Not possible.’

  Jaq stood her ground. ‘Then I want to see the boss.’

  A cleaner entered the room with a mop and bucket. Jaq moved out of her way as she limped past, dragging a withered leg. Santos, they worked till they dropped in this country. Then again, it was difficult to estimate a person’s age in China. Anyone over forty had seen harder times than it was possible for her to imagine.

  He shook his head. ‘No appointment.’

  ‘Tell Mr Wang either we speak now, or I go to the police.’ Yeah, like Yan Bing is going to be any help here.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t care why the factory was moved. I don’t care about the stolen jade. I only care about Ning Dan.’ Jaq took a deep breath. ‘He was my student. He trusted me. I need to see him, to hear from his own mouth that he is OK. That he’s here voluntarily, not under duress. I just want to know that he is safe.’

  ‘You are his teacher?’

  Too complicated to explain. Once a teacher, always a teacher. ‘Yes. And I care about my students.’ She’d been lazy and careless, accidentally sending him on a fool’s errand, straight into danger. ‘I have to be sure he is OK.’

  The swishing of the mop stopped.

  Something tugged at Jaq’s memory. The irritating cleaner in the Shingbo meeting. The customer who’d stormed out of the restaurant in Banqiao. She turned to look at the old woman. And saw her for the first time. Porra, how could she, of all people, have been so blind? Every bit as prejudiced as the worst of them.

  The hunched old woman with the withered leg straightened up. A pair of clear green eyes met Jaq’s.

  ‘I am Wang Ru.’

  The boss.

  Suiping, Henan Province, China

  A shout rang through the air.

  Wang Ru, the Chinese boss of Krixo, limped to the window and pulled back the blinds. Below the window, the reservoir stretched as far as the eye could see, a smooth sheet of silver disturbed by an interwoven pattern of ripples. A boat? Too small. A bird? Too large. It took Jaq a moment to realise what it was, who it was, coming towards them across the water.

  ‘Wait!’ Jaq was out of the house, sprinting towards the security guard.

  ‘Bùyào kāi qiāng!’

  A woman was already at the water’s edge, shouting orders at the guard that made him run to the boathouse. Jaq recognised the woman from her LinkedIn profile. Charles Clark’s PhD student. Research Director for Krixo. She was even more beautiful in real life, and her advanced pregnancy suited her.

  ‘Dr Xe Lin.’ Jaq held out a hand. ‘At last.’

  ‘Dr Silver, I presume.’ Xe Lin frowned. ‘Are those friends of yours?’ A tiny dog ran around her in excited circles, barking and leaping as the swimmers approached.

  Jaq suppressed an exasperated smile. There was no mistaking the smooth, synchronised strokes of Timur and Holger. A madly dangerous swim, even though they had taken the long way round, keeping clear of the dam and the power plant intake. And nowhere near as dangerous as dodging the barges and ferries of Shanghai’s Huangpu river one thousand miles downstream.

  The two men emerged from the water in their wetsuits, and the security guard handed them towels. Timur strode over to Jaq and gave her a damp hug. ‘Jaq Silver. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’

  ‘I don’t need your help, Timur.’

  His dark brows met. ‘I’m not here for you.’

  He turned to Xe Lin.

  ‘I bring a gift for Ru, from her father.’

  Jaq jumped at the sudden burst of gunfire, automatic and from the direction of the mountains.

  ‘Quick,’ Xe Lin shouted. ‘Inside.’

  She picked up the little dog and ran, Jaq, Timur and Holger following.

  The first security guard fell as they entered the courtyard, crimson petals exploding from his chest. The second guard cowered inside the gatehouse, the glass panes smashing around him.

  Xe Lin locked the door as they entered the house, but the bolts and chains were useless against the bullets which shredded the wood. They joined Ru at the far end of the room, watching in horror as the inner door flew open and uniformed police strode into the room.

  Yan Bing carried a gun, a large semi-automatic already drawn and pointing. His assistant had something worse in her hands: an ice-blue velvet knife roll.

  Of course. The perf
ect undercover agent. Highly intelligent. Deeply disturbed. A chameleon in appearance and character. One minute an innocent student, the next a femme fatale. Highly efficient, utterly ruthless. Completely deranged.

  She had been working for Yan Bing all this time; Lulu was his murdering assistant.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Yan Bing said. ‘What do we have here? A bunch of perverts, thieves and liars.’

  ‘Get out of my house.’ Ru advanced, fearless.

  ‘Give me the Qianlong wedding cup, and I’ll go.’

  ‘I don’t have it.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  Yan Bing pointed his weapon at Xe Lin.

  ‘On the floor.’

  ‘I can’t . . .’ Xe Lin protested.

  ‘Now!’

  Jaq helped the pregnant woman to the floor. Xe Lin lay on her side, cradling her belly with her hands. Jaq took up position in front of her, shielding the unborn child. The little dog broke free.

  Lulu cooed at the pug, who trotted towards her.

  Yan Bing muttered an instruction; she laughed and bent down to pick up the dog.

  ‘Where is the wedding cup?’ Yan Bing repeated.

  ‘I don’t have it.’

  Lulu put the dog under one arm and began to unroll her knives.

  ‘No!’ Xe Lin watched, appalled.

  ‘Where is it?’

  Lulu pulled on a pair of latex gloves before selecting a small filleting knife.

  Sensing that something was wrong, the little dog struggled to escape. Lulu tightened her hold. It yelped and started to whimper.

  ‘One last chance.’ She brought the knife close to the struggling dog and it shrank away.

  ‘Stop!’ Xe Lin was struggling to sit up.

  ‘Stay down,’ Jaq hissed.

  ‘I know where it is!’ Xe Lin got to her feet.

  Lulu released the dog. It whimpered and ran under the table.

  ‘Don’t do this!’ Ru begged.

  ‘It’s not worth a life.’ Xe Lin walked to the table. ‘There has been too much death already.’ She seized the TV remote, and at the touch of a button a silk wall hanging rolled slowly upwards, revealing a safe.