Global Warning Breaking Point: Global Warning, #1

By A J Ransome

February, 2022. A tsunami hits Southwest Thailand. There are no warnings.

With climate change accelerated, natural disasters are hitting more frequently... and harder. To evacuate in time, people have come to rely on the UN's extreme weather warning system which uses artificial intelligence to forecast exactly when and where disasters will strike.

Until the system suffers a devastating cyber-attack.

Steph, an environmental scientist, and Ed, an expert in artificial intelligence, are in Thailand when the tsunami hits. They must fight for their lives if they are to find who – or what – has crashed the world's most advanced AI system. The answers lie in the past – a thread of events starting in the storm-swept Spring of 2017.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A J Ransome
• Release date: Nov 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393275343

Book preview

One – Koh Phi Phi Don, Thailand, 2022

It was the day before the tsunami hit Koh Phi Phi Don. The day before surges of Andaman Sea were to swallow the island almost entirely; to submerge littered beaches, destroy high-rise hotels and erase a mish-mash of backpacker shacks, thumping beach bars and stalls selling sickly-sweet cocktail buckets.

It was a normal day of frenzied commerce and lazy over-indulgence under a relentless, sticky heat, every hour the roaring long-tail boats and ferries carting in yet more tourists to join the throng.

From the scorching mix of grey sand and dust that comprised Ton Sai beach, Tyler watched the newcomers stagger from the latest ferry onto the main pier. He took another thirsty gulp from a bottle of already warm Chang, his third since noon. Swiped a burnt hand across his mouth.

As soon as their feet touched the wooden boards, the tourists would be scrambling round for cash to pay their 500 bhat tourist fee for ‘cleaning up the island’. It was a joke. Once paid up, they’d be shoved along the pier towards touts selling accommodation from cruddy backpacker dorm beds to extortionate resort bungalows. He and his buddies were caught out that way themselves. Ended up sweltering in a stinking, twenty-bed dorm. Thin, stained mattresses next to a tiny wash room that reeked of piss.

He scowled as he knocked back dregs of lager. His temples still throbbed from last night. Who the hell had come up with the idea of drinking from buckets? Seemed like an awesome way to buy alcohol at first, but that last JD and coke had wiped him out. 

Your round, man.

He glanced across.

Chad. Never willing to waste time between beers. Probably been watching Tyler for the last five minutes, waiting for him to finish.

He sat up. The movement set the throb into overdrive. Turning, he lobbed his empty beer bottle into a pile-up of plastic cups, bottles and polystyrene cartons edging the beach behind him. After paying his 500 bhat, damned if he was going to look for a trash can. Not that it’d make a difference anyway. All the trash cans you could find were overflowing into rotting, fly-infested heaps, some so high the original container had pretty much disappeared.

He put a hand against his hot forehead.

Hair of the dog, Chad said.

It’s not my round. He looked pointedly at Scott, lying full out in the tiniest of speedos, a thick beach towel protecting him from glass-ridden dust.

Scott grinned, flashing bright teeth in a face already turned brown. He was a handsome bastard and Tyler tried, unsuccessfully, to quit comparing his own pinkening fair skin to Scott’s bronzed flesh. The asshole had gotten lucky last night. Their first night on the island and he’d scored. A hot Swedish chick, her long hair white-blonde next to Scott’s dark Italian complexion. Made him almost sick with envy. Then the bourbon finished the job, and he got too acquainted with the reeking dorm toilet to care much about anything.

Scott rose languidly from the sand. Stretched. Yawned widely before his features settled back into a smirk. Yeah OK – my round. You caught me in a good mood. Hey, did I tell you, she was sharing a room with a friend back at her resort? Her girlfriend was hot too...

Just shut the hell up and get the beers.

Scott retreated.

Tyler settled his gaze on the pier again. Remind me, why did we ask Casa-fucking-nova along?

Chad shrugged. You said it would be easier to pick up chicks with him around.

I talk way too much crap. He drew up his knees to rest arms on.  

Not that he was all that sorry. Not really. The three of them had been buddies all through high school. Scott was annoyingly good-looking, but he always watched Tyler’s back. And Chad’s easy-going, chilled out demeanour kind of balanced out Tyler’s more pessimistic outlook. When high school came to an end, and reality of full-time jobs loomed, they made a pact to take a break, six months in. To go somewhere warm and exotic. Cheap. Thailand fit the bill. And, almost unbelievably, they managed to pull it off, leaving behind a freezing Canadian winter for a couple of weeks to live it up on a party island in the sun. 

Chad flopped back against his elbows with a grunt. A better question would be; why did we come to this place? Not exactly the paradise the ads say it is. Trash everywhere, smells like crap, too many assholes like us and not enough good-looking girls.

Tyler barely heard him. Leaning forward, he squinted against the sun’s glare, his entire focus now on the pier. Shading his eyes with one hand, he stared at the girl who’d just disembarked from one of the long-tail boats. Slender. Legs with light definition of muscle, elongated by cute denim cut-offs. Glossy, dark brown hair, carelessly shoved in a ponytail. Large sunglasses were propped up by the prominent cheekbones of a heart-shaped face. Her pale skin screamed newcomer and the long-sleeved kaftan showed more sense than a desire to tan.

Shifting a large knapsack more firmly onto her shoulders, she turned to speak to her companion; a girl with fair hair hanging against her collarbones in plaits. They both looked at the beach and his heart picked up a notch as they scanned the area. But her gaze didn’t linger. Then she laughed.

Longing stirred. Took him by surprise. There was nothing that remarkable about her. In fact, her friend with her flaxen hair and cleavage jostling in her tight spaghetti-strap top was probably prettier – in a conventional way. But there was something attractive about the brunette.

Not enough good-looking girls? Tyler finally said. Check them out.

Chad sat up quickly. Where?

Straight ahead. The pier.

Chad shielded his eyes as Tyler had. Shrugged. Yeah... They’re pretty cute I guess.

I’m gonna go talk to her.

The blonde one?

No, the other one.

No way, man. She’s too classy for you! Chad laughed.

But Tyler was already on his feet and striding towards the pier, full attention on that one figure making her way slowly past the touts.

*

Steph Jenkins fully expected the dismay, wretched and rotten as the scent wafting over from Ton Sai. It hit hard though, as she moved slowly along the crowded pier and gazed from towering limestone cliffs down to ruined bay.

A strange reaction perhaps, when arriving at a tropical island; sun beating down an antidote to a harsh English winter. But the feeling had become familiar.

She’d prepared for it of course; knew this trip would cause more heartache, accompanied by inevitable dread and feeling of impotence. But even before she’d stepped foot on land, her heart ached for the island. For the destruction of what was once a vibrant, tropical paradise. For the further destruction to come.

Her research on the area was extensive. Less than two decades ago, the brown-flecked sea lapping against the pier had been a clear turquoise. The beach, once a dazzling white crescent, lined with palm trees. Inland, where concrete hotel blocks now stood in uniform ranks, jungle had reigned, verdant emerald-green, rising haphazardly over steep landscape and ending dramatically at the sheer limestone cliffs.        

She looked away from the view and at her friend and colleague, Kristen. Could be worse – at least the island’s still above water. Unlike most of the Maldives.

"More’s the pity. What do you think they do with the money they’re demanding for cleaning up the island?

The litter was strewn along the beach, waste piled up at edges to form an ugly line where sand met dusty street.

"With so many tourists on such a tiny island, there’s probably only so much they can do."

Kristen followed her gaze. Not sure what’s littering the beach more – beer bottles or the strange pink-coloured beer-swilling, grease-guzzling species that inhabit it.

The comment was, momentarily, distracting. Not particularly funny, but she was suddenly laughing; a blessed release of tension built up over the last few days. Thank God Kristen had joined her on this study. Her friend’s pragmatism and wry sense of humour was exactly what she needed.  

Five years since they’d met. Kingston University. Both starting a degree in environmental sciences. It seemed, at first, an unlikely friendship; Kristen the outspoken anarchist given to dying her short hair green, listening to Rage Against the Machine and screaming at demos. Steph more studious; considered quiet – mainly because she liked to think through opinions before voicing them. But she admired the firm ethics behind Kristen’s activism and that, despite her strong opinions, Kristen was genuinely interested in understanding other people’s views.

They parted ways after Kingston – Kristen to join Greenpeace and Steph to continue her studies at Brunel before she landed a coveted research position at the United Nation’s Department for Extreme Weather Warnings. DEWWs. It was at Cambridge, when Steph began a PHD sponsored by DEWWs, that she and Kristen were to meet again.

A lucky coincidence.

A hot day in mid-September, the lecture Halls and indoor eateries stifling. She had headed to the University’s Botanic Garden café, seeking a shady outdoor spot to work on her laptop and start outlining key points for her thesis. Early that morning, she had driven up from her mother’s home in Wiltshire to meet with her mentor, a world-renowned Climatologist lecturing at Cambridge. They discussed her thesis at length, and locations for her field studies.

With a lot to mull over afterwards, she nearly walked right into a volunteer crouching by an herbaceous border, stabbing a trowel into a dandelion.

Kristen’s appearance had changed so drastically, she didn’t recognise her old friend at first.

"Steph?" Kristen had lost the eyebrow ring and heavy eyeliner. Her hair was grown out. Natural.

Kristen!

They’d stared at each other for a second. Then grinned. And in that instant, Kristen’s hazel eyes were familiar again; years of separation dissolving into insignificance.

An easy friendship resumed.

Of course, it wasn’t just Kristen’s appearance that had changed. There was still the same enthusiasm and warmth, but the anger that had her railing against every injustice in the world was tempered. In its place, was a more measured outlook. Kristen had mellowed.

And in Kristen’s decision to begin a Master’s at Cambridge, Steph had gained a brilliant research companion now. With Kristen studying earth sciences with a special interest in climate change, it had made perfect sense.  

A substantial piece of research crammed into just a couple of weeks. They would be measuring the rate of carbon dioxide emissions from tropical forests in this region. No doubt rising at an unprecedented rate, like CO2 emissions from just about everything these days. Global warming was hitting the tropics fastest and hardest, and now droughts were occurring every year as the tropical carbon cycle become more sensitive to climate change. It was a vicious circle; trees reacting to drought by releasing more carbon dioxide, only compounded the problem.

It terrified her.

It fascinated Kristen. We’ve screwed up the climate so much, we have a morbid fascination for what it’s going to throw at us next, she said.

Their study aimed to collect data to help inform the bigger picture, and aid predictions on future acceleration rates of warming. To feed into the UN’s extreme weather warning system. DEWWs were funding the study. And she had managed to get her grant to cover Kristen’s flight as well; Kristen as her research assistant. And it was research that Kristen intended to use for her own Master’s dissertation.

And this region – Steph looked up to the craggy landscape beyond the hotels – was hideously perfect for it.

The neighbouring island where they were to do their research, Phi Phi Leh, was a protected national park which kept tourist dollars flooding into the otherwise spoilt region. Access was from this polluted wreck that remained of Phi Phi Don.

And so here they both were, after a 12-hour flight to Bangkok followed the next day by another short flight to Krabi in Southwest Thailand, a packed bus journey and equally crowded boat trip; being shoved along Phi Phi Don’s main pier. Early afternoon sun beat down relentlessly, combining with jet-lag to immerse her mind in fog. Dodging past outstretched flyers and signs for various accommodation, boat trips to Phi Phi Leh and 2-4-1 cocktails at beach-front bars, she squinted through glare reflected off oily sea.

I think we’re supposed to call for a boat transfer to our guesthouse. But it’s only a kilometre or so out of town, along the beach... We could walk it? she said.

Kristen shrugged under the straps of her backpack. Sure. Don’t think I can face another packed boat anyway.

Another local approached as they paused halfway down the pier. Boat-boat?

Mai. She shook her head. Smiled politely.

Where you go?

We’re walking. She pulled straps of her backpack more firmly against her shoulders. Set off purposefully. The pier was so claustrophobic that the beach, despite its littered state, actually looked more appealing.

Ignoring the other touts, they made it to the end of the pier and down onto sand before they were stopped again.

Hey! How’re you doing?

He was young. Twenty at most. Lanky, fair, painfully sunburnt. He grinned, teeth dazzlingly white against the burn.

Why do you care? She bit back the retort. Twitched her lips in the briefest of smiles. Good, thanks.

She made to move past. He moved with her, long legs easily keeping step as she ploughed through dusty sand. 

I’m Tyler. He thrust a hand out. 

She took it reluctantly. It was hot. Sweaty. You’re very burnt, Tyler. You should put a shirt on. She resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her shorts.

Yeah, I guess you’re right! Tyler looked down at his red chest. Then at her. What’s your name? he persisted.

Steph. She gestured. Kristen.

Great to meet you.

Another silence as they kept striding down the beach. Then, are you from England?

Yep.

I’m Canadian.

She nodded. Picked her way around another pile of beer cans.

I guess you could tell from my accent, right? Although you guys usually think we’re American. He laughed.

He was like an eager puppy, side-stepping as he talked to her. She looked right, caught Kristen’s eye. Kristen smirked unhelpfully and she fought a sudden urge to laugh again. Tiredness leading to hysteria, probably. Tyler was likely trying his luck with every girl he encountered.

She stopped. Faced him. Listen, Tyler. It’s nice to meet you, but we’re both knackered and we just want to get to our hotel now.

Tyler dropped his eyes to the ground, grin disappearing. She felt sort of sorry for him.

So, er, see you around sometime, she dismissed him gently.

Sure. He dug at the sand with his toe.

She turned to continue her journey.

Hey, if you’re out tonight, come along to the Big Bazooker Bar... Ah, actually, scratch that. Come to Jeanie’s Bar – you’ll pass it in a few minutes. Real classy place right on the beach with chairs and everything. The grin was back, confidence recovered.

I think we’re both too jet-lagged for a night out, Tyler. But sure, maybe we’ll see you at some point.

She walked. To her relief, Tyler didn’t follow.

See you later then! he called.

She raised a hand. Didn’t look back. Kristen was laughing at her.

Come on, let’s get to our guesthouse before anyone else hassles us.

"Maybe we should go out. You need some fun – you’ve turned way too serious lately."

Undeniably so.

Their ‘guesthouse’ turned out to be a small collection of ramshackle clap-board huts. They rose from the beach, up steep slopes leading to the island’s main ridge. Huddled between palm trees, they peeked out at coastline unobtrusively, weathered teak varnish and bamboo roofs blending with jungle. A kilometre out from the main town, if not exactly peaceful, the roar of boats and bass beats from bars was at least subdued. The accommodation was the first thing that pleased her since arriving.

Not bad! Kristen echoed her thoughts as she dumped her bag on scratched wooden floor. She headed straight over to the wall where a switch for the ceiling fan was located. Bloody hot in here though!

Like a sauna.

It was an L-shaped room. Light streamed through a large glass window. By the window, a rickety door opened onto a small decking area. Twin beds were made up with clean, beige linen. A long wooden side table against the wall housed a tiny T.V. and, towards the far end by the bathroom, teak-laminated doors were partially slid back to reveal hanging space. Steph walked over to the doors, gave a cursory glance at the en-suite to her right; chipped tiles, small shower; basic. She slid the teak doors across fully.

Oh good. Looks like we have a decent safe for our equipment. Metal. Solid.

The place was clearly cheap, but it would meet their needs just fine. Simplicity was good.

Kristen edged past to look at the bathroom. Well, at least we have our own toilet.

Steph smiled as she swung her pack off her back. She unzipped it. Reached inside for plug-in mosquito repellent. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s a lot better than a dorm room, that’s for sure!

Kristen smiled back. This trip’s going to be fun.

*

Just fifty metres on from Steph and Kristen’s hut, in a more elevated position on the hill, the balcony-clad, two-storey units of smart, new Ocean View Resort contrasted stridently with jungle scenery in dazzling white plastered concrete.

The units were detached, each with ground floor, and first-floor room. Most were lined along a large, kidney-shaped pool. Reception, gym and restaurant buildings extended down to the beach. From the centre of the pool rose a small island of ferns, and two stunted palm trees. It was well-kept; clear water over bright turquoise tiles, glinting in the sun.

That’s the colour the sea should be, Suzanne thought as she gazed at rippling water from the comfort of a cushioned sun lounger. And those palm trees should be tall and a darker green, swaying in a gentle breeze and shading a white-sand beach.

But, mesmerised by play of light, soporific from the sun’s strength and her second margarita, dissatisfaction was slowly fading into blurry resignation. That’s what they did best on this island; they plied you with booze until you stopped noticing the murky state of littered sea, dusty grey of beach and general tackiness of the over-crowded town which was, thank God, over a mile away from their resort.     

It was Ed’s fault, damn him. Stupid, letting him pick their vacation destination. That was the problem with being married to a nerd; they could never drag their attention away from their little digital existence long enough to focus on the real world. Ed hadn’t bothered looking at reviews of Koh Phi Phi, nor considered what little it had to offer these days. An old friend of his mentioned this place. Said she was going out to do research – something to do with the environment – and lodged the idea of the island in his head. He’d glanced at a couple of websites depicting white beaches, lush palms and clear, aquamarine sea and decided that would do. The photos were clearly not of this place. Or if they were, they’d been taken many years ago.

She took another sip of her margarita. Bitter-sweet lime and mild burn of tequila.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Ed were still employed. But since his redundancy, he had loads of time to spend on finding somewhere decent. Unlike her. Run ragged, as always, chasing the latest news story. Exhausted, obviously in need of a break, but she had to insist on taking a holiday – practically give an ultimatum, before Ed caved in. Then he went and booked this hellhole. No doubt he’d try and tag along with this research project somehow, and leave her stuck by the pool with nothing to do. She’d have been better off sticking in California.

Her margarita was done. She debated whether to signal the waitress for a third.

Finished another already?

Ed’s tone was mild, but his question irritating. She turned to glare at her husband. Sprawled across the sun-lounger, long limbs ungainly and still pale after three days here. His slender hands were wrapped around a large book. She read the title and sighed.

Applications of Advanced Artificial Neural Networking within the Healthcare System. Almost as bad, in between reading that big, heavy book he’d lugged all the way here, he kept checking his smartphone, no doubt unable to drag himself away from the emails, blogs and tutorials that seemed to occupy him full-time since he left his job.

I thought you retired from all that.

Ed’s forehead creased in a question. She pointed at the book. His frown deepened.

Not retired. Sacked.

Don’t snap at me. She reached out. Thoughtlessly scratched a mosquito bite at the top of her thigh. It’s not my fault you decided to stir up a shit-storm with your nonsense about AI destroying the planet, she added.

They’ve managed to stir up a shit-storm all by themselves by the sound of things.

She looked at him sharply. His frosty tone was suddenly gleeful. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

What?

I got an email from AITec this morning. Apparently, they’re having issues with Hephaestus.

She dragged her mind back a year... no, just over a year ago, to when Ed and his team completed a huge project that AITec – one of the most prestigious, well-known AI technology companies in the world – had taken on. Hephaestus was a complex system and had led to major new developments in AI.

"But why would they tell you?"

I’m guessing no-one can fix the problem, whatever it is. His smirk widened to a full-on grin. So they emailed this morning asking if I’d consider coming back to fix it. I was the main architect for the system, so would be the best person to figure out what went wrong. They must be desperate.

Her pulse picked up a beat. The fog of sun and alcohol lifted a little. She sat up. Twisted to face him.

Will you go back to AITec?

You’ve got to be kidding! He looked genuinely shocked, as if it wasn’t a reasonable proposition. I’d never go back in a million years! You know that. 

The spark of hope deflated. She flopped back against the sun lounger with a heavy sigh. Ed clearly didn’t see the issue with remaining unemployed. True, he made a killing from the last project, but money didn’t last forever. And a career like his would go stale if he was out of the game too long.

I still don’t understand why you had to suddenly grow a conscience when you’ve been so embroiled in this whole AI business for the last decade. She focused her glare from Ed back to the red lump on her leg, now a frenzy of itching.

I wouldn’t expect a journalist to understand about having a conscience.

Her jaw dropped. Through her indignation, a stab of hurt. What a cheap shot.

I’m sorry. Ed immediately apologised. I didn’t mean that. He sighed. Put his book down. But you shouldn’t make light of it. It affects us all.

Damn it, she needed another margarita. She lifted a hand and waved, catching the attention of a smartly dressed Thai woman standing at the far end of the pool. The woman instantly came over, her gait brisk, yet graceful. Suzanne turned from Ed. Rearranged her features into a breezy smile.

Hi. Another margarita, please.

The waitress nodded. And for Sir?

A large Singha. Ed had sat upright. He smiled and put his hands together in thanks. Khob-khun krap.

The waitress smiled shyly, and responded with the same gesture. Khob-khun kaa.

Suzanne fought down a twist of anger. How could Ed be so relaxed right now? First, he point-blank refused to even consider returning to a perfectly good job. Now he was melting under this woman’s smile. She assessed the waitress’s appearance. Anger worsened with envy. Even in her plain uniform of white shirt and knee-length black skirt, the woman was beautiful with her trim figure, almond-shaped eyes and glossy black hair.

Talking of having a conscience, you can damn well stop flirting with the local girls right in front of your wife, she hissed when the woman retreated to the bar.

Ed looked at her with an expression of mild amazement. It’s not flirting. It’s being polite. What the hell is the matter with you today?

She didn’t answer. As suddenly as it came on, her anger fizzled out. Dull resignation returned. She must stop being a bitch. She knew Ed couldn’t return to AITec. She never understood entirely what happened, but Ed had been torn to pieces over his work. Ever since he began work on that damn Hephaestus project, it seemed like a small piece of his soul had withered away.

She sighed again. This time, a long exhalation.

And ever since she arrived at this God-awful island she’d been in a black mood. Maybe it was because the island, instead of being the escape she needed, just represented all that had gone wrong in the world. For several years, she’d reported on disaster after disaster as the environment collapsed under the strain of pollution. She was tired and depressed by it all. At the rate of the planet’s decline, they hardly need worry about the small contribution AI might be making to their demise.

It was like complaining about a dropped candy wrapper in a garbage dump. 

*

Almost mechanically, Chailai mixed up another margarita, swirling in the spirits and then scooping in ice cubes without pause. Deftly, she flicked the bottle top off the icy Singha, and placed both drinks onto the round, black serving tray. She stood on one foot as she worked, rotating her ankle to ease her cramped instep before switching to the other foot. With another two hours to go at the poolside before beginning service in the restaurant, it was already feeling like the day would not end.

But she must be thankful for work. Her wage was just enough to keep her two children fed and clothed and that was what mattered.

With this in mind, she resolutely ignored the twinges in her feet and stepped briskly alongside the pool towards the American couple who’d ordered drinks. She repressed a surge of envy at the sight of them relaxing on the cushioned sun-loungers. Pulled her lips into a smile.  

For you, Sir... And for you, Madam.

Her smile widened as the man thanked her again in Thai. He had a kind face, with green eyes that crinkled into laughter lines when he smiled back at her. His wife had a harder face; thin and strong-jawed, features emphasised by a short, bleached haircut. She looked displeased; as if she didn’t realise how fortunate she was, to be lying in the sun drinking cocktails next to a handsome young husband.

But she really must count her own fortunes. This was easy work compared to what one of her old school friends, Dusadi, did to make ends meet. She suppressed a shudder as she placed the tray back behind the bar counter. Being at the whim of all those men.

She returned to the poolside. Far enough away from the sunbathers to avoid being intrusive; close enough so they could attract her attention. The resort Manager was very clear on this. Impeccable service was part of the five-star package.

It was quiet at the pool today. So quiet, her mind turned too often to her family, and how they could survive the monsoon season when her contract at Ocean View ended. Whether she too, would be forced into the same situation as Dusadi.

On the face of it, the massage parlour on the edge of town was respectable. Cheap rates attracted many tourists and massages given were mostly traditional Thai. Perhaps she could earn enough as a masseuse.

She found herself shaking her head. Furtively, she glanced round to check no-one had noticed. No – the American couple appeared to be having an argument. The two other guests at the pool, the Europeans, were lying flat out; one fast asleep and the other deep in a newspaper.

It wouldn’t work. The owner of the massage parlour paid his workers a pittance, unless they were prepared to perform extras.

She sighed as her thoughts drifted to her husband. Anuman was out on the ocean somewhere now, desperately trying to earn a living from the few fish to be found these days off Thailand’s coast. It seemed so strange now to think of how they used to eat fish themselves. To think it had been part of an everyday meal for a Thai family just a few years ago! Now it was an expensive luxury, reserved only for tourists and served only at the better restaurants. In her weaker moments, she couldn’t help but feel a little bitter at the contrast. She and Anuman could barely afford to feed themselves, and here she was, waiting on people who would mindlessly spend enough bhat on a meal or a cocktail to feed her family for an entire week. 

She glanced around the pool again. To her dismay, the man with the newspaper was waving energetically, trying to catch her eye. She must pay more attention, or she’d be out of a job and in that massage parlour faster than Dusadi could make a buck.     

She hurried over. Sorry, sorry.

One beer.

Yes, of course. You like Singha, Heineken or Chang?

Heineken.

As she