“It could still be a kidnapping that went wrong.”
“Look … That’s up to the police to determine. And if it is really serious, it will be up to the FBI to get involved. Maybe this kid got involved in some shady drug deal or borrowed money from the wrong people.”
“The people who picked him up at his flat were pros … So not convinced.”
“And the mafia uses pros when it comes to settling scores.” Jethro’s voice had lost interest in the conversation.
“Any idea who the pros were?” Jack thought it was a longshot, but the London Station Chief for the CIA might know.
“We didn’t get anything that helped ID them.”
And there would be no attempt to do so. Jack continued typing his notes in frustration.
“Anything new … let me know.”
Jack stood up, put on this jacket. He walked out of the CIA head office building and ran across the open stretch of road that separated it from the cafeteria. The restaurant never closed. It catered at any time of the day or night for the agents and support staff that made Langley a centre of excellence.
A few people were there. Nobody he knew though. Just as well, Jack did not fancy an idle chit chat with anyone.
Jack ordered pancakes with maple syrup a cup of black coffee.
He picked his tray and found a spot near the window. The cafeteria was a large open plan room devoid of small corners in which to hide or eavesdrop. February’s cold was seeping through the glass, but Jack did not mind. It would only take a few more mouthfuls of food before he returned to investigating Ollie Wilson.
Jack had to admit that so far there was very little evidence of a Chinese presence in what had happened to him. Jethro was right. The kidnapping could be anything … drugs, ransom, dirty money.
Yet the CIA profile of Ollie Wilson had not turned up anything suspicious … a little pot smoking at college, but no dealing. The information from his university was still pending.
The hunch that Jack had was based more on Ollie’s Uni background. His Bioinformatics and Integrative Genomics or BIG residency at Harvard Medical School made him part of an elite group of young men who would design the future. He sounded articulate when they spoke on the phone. He wanted to be sure before presenting his case to the CIA … There was no desire to impress, simply a genuine concern to share accurate information.
Jack pushed his half-finished plate away to concentrate on his coffee … the first of many.
Why could he not let go?
Experience?
The desire to see his theory about biohazards and the control of technological transfers in the field of pharmaceutical development vindicated?
Above all the need to see what he had started through to the bitter end.
Jack sipped at his coffee and took out his mobile. His thumb hesitated. It fell swiftly over a name in his contact list … time to make a London call …
* * *
The silhouette stood on the long landing, neither rushing in nor walking away. Cora climbed down from her perch in haste. She landed softly amongst the burnt wreckage and moved to the door.
“Who are you?” Nancy looked around for some form of weapon.
The helmet was still on with no indication it was about to come off.
Nancy picked up a piece of charred wood, once part of the coffee table. Cora moved next to her in full view, ready to make a stand.
The visor flipped open in one quick flick, “Cora?”
“Nat …?” Cora started to pick her way across the floor, choosing her footing with care to avoid the glass. The other woman came forward and squeezed Cora in a light embrace. The helmet came off, dropped to the floor freeing up a mass of blonde curls. “I’m so, so sorry … I’ve just been speaking to Beth.” She squeezed Cora harder. Tears welled up in Cora’s eyes. Her nose started running and she wiped it on the sleeve of Nancy’s elegant sweater.
“It’s really, really, bad … We’ve just arrived to see what’s happened to the place.” Cora bit her lower lip. “And also … Ollie.” But she couldn’t carry on.
Nancy stepped in, offering a friendly hand to Cora’s friend Natalie. “I’m Nancy … a friend.”
Cora apologised. “Sorry Nancy, I should have …”
“Not to worry.” Nancy interrupted. “What matters is that we are amongst friends.”
Someone else was climbing the stairs in a hurry. The man arrived at the top of the stairwell and this time there was no doubt in Nancy’s mind.
“You should have waited for me.”
“And what took you so long?” Nancy shot back. The police protection officer was right of course, but she was not in the mood spare his feelings.
“Traffic was murder.”
“Even with a siren and flashing lights?”
“Not supposed to use them unless it’s a code red.”
Nancy focused on the new arrival. Male, white, a nascent beer gut and more hair on his badly shaven chin than on his head, and yet, sharp brown eyes that noticed everything.
Nancy breezed in. “Welcome anyway … I’m Nancy.” She extended her hand in the direction of the others. “Cora and Nat.”
“Michael Branning.”
Awkwardness hung in the air for a moment.
“We are trying to reach the other side of the flat to check on my artwork.” Cora nodded in the direction of the lounge.
“Before you ladies rush into doing anything clever, I’ll check with the fire brigade. We wouldn’t want you going through the floor, now would we?”
He took his mobile out of his pocket and turned around to make his call.
Where the heck did Pole find this guy?
“Maybe he’s right.” Nat gave a small shrug. Cora turned to Nancy.
“Alright, let’s get out and wait for our guardian angel to find out how safe it is to reach the other side.”
Nancy knew what the answer would be. Neither did she relish going through Cora’s props in front of an army of onlookers. She still did not quite know why she had mentioned them to her. The vague memory of Ollie standing next to them, talking about them, was not enough.
Her mobile phone rang.
“Jonathan.” Nancy moved away from the others onto the landing. “He has just arrived. Thanks for …”
“I’m not calling about that,” Pole interrupted. “I’m on my way to A&E … University College Hospital … You need to tell Cora.”
* * *
“Do you believe in luck?” Jack’s contact in London was being mischievous.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Steve, you know I don’t … We’ve been through that 1,000 times.”
“Well, today you might change your mind.”
“We’ve known each other for over 15 years … So far you’ve never won the argument.”
“Do you have any holiday left?”
“What has that got to do with anything?” Jack wondered for a moment whether he should have called to his most reliable contact at MI6, a man he would also call a friend.
“Yay or nay?”
“Of course, when does a CIA agent, EVER, take his full entitlement of holidays a year?”
“You mean the whole 10 days increasing to what … 14 after a 20-year-long career?”
“It’s 15 days and it’s 21 years.”
“Pack your bag. You’re coming to London for a well-deserved break. I know Jethro is not going to look into this for you because, as far as he is concerned, there is nothing obvious that smells of conspiracy against the United States of America.”
“That’s a bit unfair on the Station Chief.”
“Hardly … Otherwise you wouldn’t be calling me.”
Jack grumbled an acknowledgement.
“And your own boss is not going to let you go on a hunch, when everyone is focused on the Middle Eas
t at the moment.”
“Still … If I’m going to sacrifice my 10 days’ holiday, you’ve got to give me something to go on.” Jack finished his coffee, now almost cold. “I’ve told you about Wilson … You barely asked a question about that.”
“It’s because a contact of mine at Scotland Yard has called about the kidnapping of a US citizen. I’m sure you can now guess who the victim is. Right?”
Jack stopped himself from taking the final sip. “That’s impossible.”
“But there it is … pack your bags … I’ll see you in London.”
* * *
Nat had offered to accompany Cora to A&E. She had thanked her friend for her kindness but declined. Nancy was the only person she wanted with her in the police car that was driving them to the hospital on Euston Road she had told Nancy once in the car.
DS Branning was driving through traffic at speed. Cora was looking out through the window, her eyes gazing into the distance, noticing very little of the journey. Nancy kept an eye on her friend,but there was little comfort she could offer until they knew what Ollie’s medical condition was.
The strong smell of stale cigarettes didn’t seem to disturb Nancy as much as it usually did. The unmarked police car stopped abruptly. Branning swore, reversed with dexterity and continued on the wrong side of the road for a short distance. Nancy braced herself but Cora hardly noticed.
They have given up their bikes. It’s the way everybody gets around in China but her mother’s distinctive European features are starting to attract too much attention. An old friend of her grandfather has lent them a truck, old, battered … perfect.
It smells of cheap tobacco, smoked or chewed.
Her father is in the driving seat, alone, in the front cabin.
Nancy and her mother are sitting at the back. The old tarpaulin cover has been fastened to the frame as best it can with bits of string in different colours.
They’re driving down small country tracks. The main roads are teeming with national guards and they don’t want to be stopped. It’s the last leg of a long journey that brings them closer to freedom. Nancy is tired. She has not slept properly for days.
Her mother has dozed off. She too has not slept since they left Sichuan to escape the Cultural Revolution. Some old rice bags have been thrown on the floor, barely cushioning against the rocking and bouncing of the truck. Her mother stirs from time to time but Nancy is too scared to say anything.
The truck has stopped. Nancy hesitates but her father is already out of the vehicle. He lifts the cover after unfastening the strings on one side. His wife has woken up and has become fully alert again. A woman and a child show their faces and hesitate. Nancy’s mother has risen from the floor of the truck. The woman muffles a cry, jumps in and they hug each other fiercely. The little girl is still beside the truck.
Nancy’s father lifts her into the back and covers the rear of the vehicle again. There is no time for introductions. The two girls sit down next to one another and the little girl takes out of her pocket a couple of turtle cakes … She offers one to Nancy with a toothless smile. “My last ones” she says. Nancy has found her best friend forever.
The journey starts again. Her father is still driving alone. His back is tense, shoulders hunched. The daylight is fading and soon they will rely on the moon to guide them.
The truck comes to an abrupt stop. Nancy and her friend are thrown against the steel side panel of the cab. The roar of a vehicle coming the other way grows and headlights illuminate the track.
Nancy pushes a fist against her lips to muffle the scream that almost bursts out.
DS Branning frowns. “I know what I’m doing.”
Chapter Six
“He is stable now. We need to run a battery of tests … Go home and get some rest.” The University College Hospital registrar was sitting on the chair next to Cora’s. Ollie had slipped into a coma after resuscitation proved successful. There was nothing more she could do but wait for the results. The doctor warned her these would take some time.
She was holding an untouched cup of tea in both hands. She was nodding at what the doctor was telling her, still not wanting to accept the consequences.
The man she loved was no drug addict, not the sort of person who would end up in a heroin den, or perhaps she did not know Ollie at all.
The thought stabbed her heart, and she squeezed the cup hard, a little tea slopped out, wetting her fingers. She couldn’t tell whether the liquid was warm or cold.
Nancy was sitting on the other side of her. She too had been shocked at the news. But less so than she would have expected her to be. The world of criminal law she frequented as Queen’s Counsel had shown her the dark side, often hidden, of human nature.
Cora was yet again on the brink of losing someone she cared for completely. Eight years earlier, she had suffered a great loss. History seemed to want to repeat itself in an unbearable loop.
“You’re very welcome to stay at my place … The spare room is already prepared.” Nancy had gently laid a hand on her forearm, her eyes made a little fuller by concern and kindness.
Cora shook her head.
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful after all you and Jonathan have done for me, but I’d prefer to stay with Beth, Charlie and Johnny. They’ll say yes, I know.”
“You’d like to be close to your home.” Nancy nodded.
“It’s strange but I feel I need to be there … Somehow to be able to look after it, even if I can’t just yet.”
Nancy searched Cora’s face with an intense look she had never seen before. It made her recoil a little. Nancy pulled back. “Alright … But please stay out of trouble … If anything comes up you must call me.”
“Promise … And there is officer … Branning.”
They almost managed a smile. Cora wondered how her protection officer would fare in the midst of an artist community that did not care very much about rules and conventions.
“What about your friend Nat?”
“Natalie … She’ll be there for me too. She lives in Camden, but with her motorbike she can come round in no time. We see her almost every day.”
The beep of the doctor’s pager told him he was wanted for another emergency. Cora grabbed the sleeve of his white coat before he stood up.
“As soon as you hear the results …”
He nodded as reassuringly as he could. “You will know the minute I know.”
The pager sounded again, and he disappeared in a slow jog around the corner.
It had been good that he had spent time with her, but she couldn’t help wondering whether he had been preparing her for the worst .
Pole had appeared at the far end of the corridor. He slowed down and Cora noticed his hesitation. She waved him in with a small gesture, almost childish. Pole joined them and sat in the chair the doctor had just vacated.
The kind-man-chair. Cora sighed.
“What have you decided?”
“I’m going back to the building … Staying with friends. Nancy’s met them.”
Pole leaned back to look at Nancy. She nodded.
“And I’ll have the protection of DS Branning.”
“It’s your choice, of course …” Pole let the sentence hang but Cora shook her head.
“I’ve got to be there.”
“Fine, I’ll speak to Branning”
“Inspector Pole …” Cora hesitated and Pole raised an eyebrow. She had seldom trusted anyone in the police. Nancy was smiling at him without noticing. Cora felt she could for once let her guard down.
“How did you find Ollie?”
“When someone goes missing, the NCA activates a number of channels … someone on one of those channels came through.”
“So, it was a tip-off?”
Pole thought about it for a short moment. “You could call it that.”
* * *
Nancy hugged Cora before she left. Her thin yet athletic body slumped in her arms. Pole stood aside, giving the friends space to say goodbye. Cora was just managing to keep her head above water, but returning to friends and the community of artists she felt close to was what she needed.
“Do you trust DS Branning?” Nancy asked as both Cora and Branning disappeared down the corridor. She didn’t need to pretend with Pole.
“You mean male, white, a bit pudgy and a tad misogynistic?”
“You know me too well, Jonathan.”
Pole smiled. “Do I?” He extended a hand and gently placed it on Nancy’s back.
“Branning is good at his job despite all his other … attributes.”
“Won’t take no for an answer or be deterred easily?”
“That’s the sum of it.”
Nancy turned towards him. “I’m not hugely hungry but I could do with a small something.”
“There is not much around here, unless we tried the Wellcome Collection Cafe?”
“Normally I would say that’s a really good idea and we could perhaps have spent some time wandering through their temporary exhibition, but today I’d rather go somewhere quieter.”
“The British Library members’ room?”
“Too busy …” Nancy had opened the clasp that held her jet black hair together. She let it fall loose onto her shoulders. She took a fancy little lemon beret out of her coat pocket and fitted it onto her head.
“Let’s try further afield then.” Pole bent to pick up her handbag which he handed to her. It was an attractive cross between a fashionable bag and a rucksack, matching the colour of her hat.
“How about the Renaissance on St Pancras?”
“Too grand …?”
Pole rolled his eyes. “Rotunda at Kings Place, near the Canal?”
“Excellent.” Nancy adjusted a pair of grey gloves in supple calfskin that fitted her elegant hands perfectly. Pole noticed a set of discreet lemon-coloured stitches that ran around the wrist and over the fingers of the gloves. He smiled, fashion co-ordination down to the smallest detail.
“Shall we walk there?” Pole started towards the lifts. “I sense you need to unwind.”
BLOOD DRAGON Page 6
