The Fourth Bear

22. QuangTech

Biggest fictional multinational corporation: Largest of all imaginary megacompanies is The Goliath Corporation, with an illusory net worth of 6.2 quipzillion pounds. Despite falling under the brief control of the Toast Marketing Board in 1987, Goliath resumed control of its own affairs and by the begi

—The Bumper Book of Berkshire Records , 2004 edition

The headquarters of QuangTech Industries was a series of large and generally low-lying buildings built within the boundaries of an old airfield. They had been based there since the early fifties, and QuangTech’s rapid expansion had seen the company’s buildings, offices and manufacturing facilities spread in every direction on the seven-hundred-acre site, and then to satellite factories dotted around the Home Counties. When you factored in all the smaller companies that operated under the umbrella of QuangTech, it was easily Berkshire’s biggest employer.

Mary parked the Allegro, and they walked across to the reception. They a

The vice president was a tall, heavyset man with massive hands that enveloped Jack’s and Mary’s as they shook. “Welcome to QuangTech,” said the giant, whose voice seemed to rumble on after he had spoken. He smiled at them both, his heavy brow and large jaw reminding Mary of a model Neanderthal she had seen in a museum once. “How have you been these past few years, Jack?”

“I’ve been good.”

“Impressive work on the Humpty Dumpty inquiry,” said Bisky-Batt with another smile. “I was particularly glad the Jellyman came to no harm.”

“Us, too.”

“I always think our lack of association with the NCD is something we can be justly proud of,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “You haven’t questioned us since that unfortunate business concerning the Dong’s luminous nose.”

“Eight years,” said Jack. “How’s the Quangle-Wangle these days?”

“Still going,” replied Bisky-Batt, “although now extremely frail.”

He opened a door and led them into his office. They had visited vice presidents of other corporations in the past, but Bisky-Batt’s office was the most modest they had seen. Completely unostentatious, it was almost austere. A collection of old-fashioned dial phones sat on his desk next to the very latest Quang-6000 desktop computer, the only piece of modern or high-tech equipment that could be seen. He indicated chairs, and they all sat down.

“You’re very kind,” said Jack, “and I hope not to take up too much of your time, but QuangTech’s name has been flagged several times in a recent inquiry, and I was hoping you could offer me some information.”

Bisky-Batt held up his enormous hands. “Ask whatever you wish, Inspector. QuangTech has no secrets from the police, but you must understand that we are a vast company with subsidiaries in thirty-one countries and every major city of the world. The Quangle-Wangle has interests in food, wine, engineering, electronics, software and construction all over the globe. More than one million people worldwide are somehow employed by the corporation either directly or indirectly, and we can’t be held responsible for every one of them.”

“I understand that,” answered Jack, “but I have to ask. It’s about a woman named Henrietta Hatchett.”

“Ah, yes,” replied Bisky-Batt, “the unfortunate woman who was caught in the barrage up at SommeWorld. Most upsetting. Are you satisfied with the extra precautions we have taken to ensure that this sort of tragedy does not happen again?”

“I have heard that the Health and Safety people are more than happy with your efforts. I was just wondering if Ms. Hatchett had ever approached QuangTech Industries for information?”

Bisky-Batt frowned. “Indeed she did. She was most insistent about speaking to the Quangle-Wangle, but as you know, he sees no one. She was so forceful I agreed to see her myself.”

“What did she want?”

“She wanted to know about an ex-confederate of ours named Angus McGuffin.”

Jack said nothing, and Bisky-Batt continued.

“During the eighties the Quangle-Wangle waged a policy of funding projects on the very fringes of science on the basis that if they did work, then the profits might be very substantial indeed. He called it Project Supremely Optimistic Belief. We had a few mild successes. Pumpkin transmogrification was one of them, but in general the project was a failure. McGuffin’s time here at QuangTech was a particularly expensive failure. He arrived in 1984 with claims of being able to synthesize oil from grass cuttings; it was an idea the Quangle-Wangle found irresistible.”

“There are many people who say the grass-cutting story is a myth to cover his true intent.”

“If only it were.”

“So you’re saying McGuffin was a charlatan?”

Bisky-Batt shrugged. “‘Charlatan’ would be a polite term. Personally I would have had him drummed out ASAP, but the Quang calls the shots. We gave McGuffin a laboratory. He blew it up. We gave him another. He blew that one up as well. We rebuilt the lab for the third time a little farther away from the other buildings, and he blew that up, too.”

“He was making progress?”

“No, I think he just liked blowing things up. He destroyed at least two labs a year, until even the Quangle-Wangle began to see that he was pouring money down the drain, and McGuffin’s contract was terminated in 1988.”

“And his death?”

“The day before he was due to leave. A parting shot, we think, and although the coroner recorded an open verdict, we considered it suicide. It was his biggest explosion to date. Despite our having isolated his laboratory on the far side of the plant, he still managed to blow out all the windows in the village.”

“But you never found the body.”

“We never found the laboratory, Inspector.”

“Might he have escaped somehow?”

“No. We had closed-circuit TV of him right up until the moment of the blast; it was all played at the inquest. It wasn’t just him, you know. He took three lab assistants with him. He cost us over thirty million pounds, and all for nothing. Project Supremely Optimistic Belief was abandoned soon after.”

“What else was Miss Hatchett asking about?”

“I think that was pretty much it.”

“Did she mention other explosions she was looking at?”

Bisky-Batt thought for a moment. “No. It was McGuffin she was after. We get a lot of requests for information about Angus, so I have most of it at my fingertips. I understand he’s become the patron saint of the conspiracy movement.”

“And what about Obscurity?”

“Somewhere the Quangle-Wangle shall never be, Inspector.”

“I meant the village.”

“You’re not the first to ask. Yes, I can confirm that we were requested by the Home Office to do a detailed examination of the site. The results were sent on to NS-4 and published the same day—a wartime bomb, detonated accidentally.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“Tell me,” said Jack, “does QuangTech have an interest in genetically modified foodstuffs?”

“Owing to the almost blanket ban here in Europe,” replied Bisky-Batt after considering the question briefly, “GM foodstuffs are not a market worth the very great expenditure and stringent regulations. However, we do have a cross-pollination seed division that does generate a good deal of income. High-yield crops are big business. Unlike many of our competitors, we have a rigorously applied ethical policy, so that we are not exploiting those least able to defend themselves. It’s a contentious subject, and despite our very best intentions we are still lambasted for our efforts. Sadly, globalization and multinational business are seen as a great evil in many people’s eyes, despite the good that we do.”

“What about cucumbers?”

Bisky-Batt raised an eyebrow. “In what respect?”

“Genetically modified or cross-pollinated oversize vegetables to—I don’t know—feed the hungry masses or something?”

“With cucumbers? ” asked Bisky-Batt, a lean smile crossing his impassive features. “The most remarkable thing about cucumbers is that they have the least caloric value of any vegetable. Good for the crunch in a salad, but otherwise pretty useless. We concentrate on those foodstuffs that are themselves a staple—such as rice, maize, oats, wheat and so forth.”

“I see,” said Jack thoughtfully, “so the financial sense in breeding a giant cucumber is…?”

“Not very high, although there may be value to the competitive veg-growing industry. Cucumbers are technically a fruit and in the same family as pumpkins, melons and squash, so it may benefit those markets, although, to be honest, giant melons don’t strike me as potentially that commercial. But it’s not something we go in for, so my knowledge is a little sparse on the subject. May I ask why?”

“Just something that has come up in the course of our inquiries.”

There was another pause. A

“Can we interview the Quangle-Wangle?”

“I can certainly ask him, but I shouldn’t hold your breath. He grants me an audience every morning. I am, to all intents and purposes, his arms and eyes and voice. The Quangle-Wangle is old and frail. He has fought in two world wars and built an empire that straddles the globe. His body is wasted, but his mind is still keen. He told me once, although I think he was paraphrasing Carnegie, that a man who dies rich dies without honor. He has spent the last ten years of his life giving away more than fifty million pounds to needy institutions through his various charitable trusts. All requests are considered on their own merits by a table of eight consultants, but the Quang makes the final decision. A request for a new scout hut in Wantage is taken with the same seriousness as a diphtheria-inoculation program in Splotvia. As I recall, both were approved.”