BLOOD DRAGON

by Freddie P Peters

  Nancy smiled, moving a little faster to catch up with him. Pole put on his jacket as he walked.

  The cold hit them both as they went out through the rotating doors of University College Hospital. Despite it being midday, the sky was grey and lowering, and darkness would come soon that evening. Pole turned up the collar of his jacket against his cheeks. Nancy stepped closer to him and he wrapped his right arm around her shoulders.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Nancy did not seem surprised at the question. Pole had made a successful career as a DCI, reading people well on a first encounter. There were few places to hide in the presence of Inspector Pole and he knew she did not mind his gentle probing.

  She nodded, her yellow beret bobbing a few times against Pole’s shoulder.

  “The flashbacks are happening more often now.”

  “You are delving into your past … With both hands.” Pole gently stroked her forearm with his fingers.

  “But it’s so strange it never happened until now.”

  “Would you have allowed the past to trouble you like this when you were at the height of your career, or even on the way up there?”

  Nancy slowed down a little. “I never thought about it that way. But to answer your question, yes, you are right. The past was buried deep and I certainly did not have any desire to revisit it.”

  “But now you do?” It was a question that Pole asked regularly. He had agreed to help Nancy on the road to discovering the missing parts of her past. But that process had to be driven by her desire to find out what had happened to her father almost 30 years ago, not his desire to ingratiate himself by producing the information she needed unprompted.

  “I’m not turning back now … I need to know. Although I have to admit that what I may find at the end of the journey or even what I may find on the way is scaring me.”

  They walked for a little while in silence. Pole would not pretend the path to the truth was going to be easy. It would have been dishonest to say otherwise. More importantly, Nancy would have known it was disingenuous on his part and that would not do.

  “This time … I mean the memory, was about the last part of our journey to Hong Kong. I had completely forgotten about it.”

  “You spent months being scared on the way to reaching safety. I’m not surprised that as a seven-year-old girl you chose to shut it away. Even adults do that when faced with the prospect of torture or death.”

  Nancy shivered. “I know … and yet, the memory is disturbingly fresh.”

  They arrived at the Euston Road crossing that led to the British Library. The little green man at the crossing disappeared and they both accelerated their pace, half running to reach the other side.

  Nancy slowed to a stop. Her eyes moved to the imposing Paolozzi statue that stood on a high plinth in the British Library piazza. It was of a man, sitting on a block, bending forward and, as he did so, measuring the universe with a set of dividers.

  “I’m never completely sure about this sculpture, you know …”

  “You prefer the original watercolour of Isaac Newton measuring the universe by William Blake?”

  “I suppose I do … I like Blake’s uncompromising way of telling the stories he believed in.”

  “Which was unfashionable at the time.”

  “That’s right … Newton was a dominant figure and well-respected scientist.”

  “But Blake thought he could not see the limitations of his attempt to measure the work of God …”

  Nancy cocked her head, still looking at the imposing piece. “Perhaps we too are limited in what we see.”

  A gust of wind reminded them that it was the middle of the winter and that they needed to find shelter. Pole wrapped his arm around her once more and urged her gently towards their cosier destination.

  The Rotunda restaurant was almost full. Pole spotted a table that was being vacated and called the head waiter to secure the place for them.

  Within five minutes, they were comfortably settled and had ordered their food. Nancy removed her little hat and let her eyes roam around the room. She looked with interest past Pole’s shoulder through the floor-length windows.

  The Regents Canal looked almost welcoming, despite the grey water. It reflected the colourful narrow boats that were moored there, and a few evergreen trees provided some foliage along the canal. Pole followed her gaze.

  They both chatted for a short while about the new Kings Place building and the improvements it had brought to the area. It was a gentle way to ease into the more serious conversation they would have once the food had arrived, and they were sure of their privacy.

  The appetising dishes they had decided to share arrived.

  Grilled broccoli, poached duck egg, truffle oil and hazelnuts. Pole absentmindedly picked up the pepper mill and gave it a few turns over the egg. Nancy would almost certainly pick at his dish. He knew she would enjoy the additional spice.

  Braised beef ribs and skin on fries with garlic herb butter. She had forgotten all about a small something for lunch after all. Nancy moved the small dish holding the fries between the two plates, ready to share.

  They both took a mouthful and groaned with pleasure. The food had the foreseen effect on Nancy. She relaxed into her chair and her face regained its gentleness. The side of her Pole had discovered and learned to expect when they were on their own.

  “Thank you for not pushing me.” Nancy rested affectionate eyes on Pole.

  “There is no need for me to be impatient.”

  “Still, you have given me a lot of your time and hard-earned information, of course.” Nancy toyed with a piece of broccoli that looked inviting, yet she seemed to have lost her appetite.

  “I expected to discover that my father had completely severed his links to the Chinese Communist Party, so the hint of a connection came as a shock.”

  “I suppose he never spoke about his continued connections with China when you were in France?”

  “That’s right. After we had escaped from China and settled in Paris he never said anything about the people he knew back there … He spoke with me about China as a country, about its art and history, but not about its politics. I never realised that until now. Perhaps he commented on what was happening there with the artist friends he engaged with and talked politics with, but I would not have been party to those conversations.”

  “It’s heartbreaking to leave the country one loves and to leave everything behind, especially friends and family.” Pole stopped eating and waited a moment. “There was perhaps an element of guilt.”

  “There must have been … Survivor’s guilt is sometimes stronger than …” Nancy chewed and swallowed her mouthful of food before finishing, “… the blood ties of love and family.”

  “You are making assumptions now … as I am and I apologise. We still don’t know what his motivations were for returning to China.”

  “You are right and I should not assume that he was simply a selfish bastard.” Nancy clenched her fork a little too tight, the sinews of her hand prominent under the strain.

  “I can think of another explanation.”

  Nancy gave Pole a dubious look. “Which is?”

  “Perhaps he hoped that China would soon become a better place and that he would be able to return with you and you mother … and re-introduce you to your country of birth.”

  “That’s a generous interpretation, Jonathan.” Nancy gave Pole a bitter yet kind smile. “I fear things are not going to unfold in a way I am going to like … the links to China’s communist party is just the beginning.”

  “I’m still holding out for that interpretation.”

  “In order to be convinced I need to learn a lot more about my family and the friends he spent time with.”

  Pole was about to renew his offer of help, when Nancy interrupted. “You have done
so much already. Let me see whether I can gather some information from my own contacts.”

  Pole could not argue with that, not yet anyway. Perhaps this was a way for Nancy to slow down the process she had found painful from the very beginning. Whatever he did, Pole was convinced that Nancy would soon realise that the intelligence he had produced and gathered did not come from police archives, not even those of Interpol.

  “Always happy to help and …” The ping of Pole’s smartphone interrupted Nancy’s reply. A text had arrived.

  Superintendent Marsh needed him urgently.

  * * *

  DS Branning had been offered a cup of tea and a biscuit which he accepted gratefully. He hardly stepped into the flat to retrieve the beverage, and disappeared outside for what appeared to be a much-needed fag.

  “You think we should offer him one of ours?” Johnny flopped onto one of the old sofas they had rescued from a junk shop and revived with patterned throws and colourful cushions.

  “I doubt DS Branning smokes pot when he’s on duty.” Beth said, bringing in the tin of biscuits from the kitchen. Charlie was balancing their cups of tea on the large green chopping board that doubled up as a tray.

  “Do you think he’ll be able to smell it?”

  “What … the grass we smoke or the one that we grow on the rooftop?” Charlie plonked a mug in front of each of them.

  “Cora da’ling, you’ve said nothing since you arrived.” Johnny extended his arm towards his friend and laid a bejewelled hand over her forearm.

  “Don’t be a dick … she only arrived a few minutes ago.” Beth took her mug and retreated deep into one of the armchairs.

  “Not true … it was …” Johnny consulted with a great flourish his brand new Patek Philippe watch. “A whole half hour ago.”

  “Sorry guys, it’s just that everywhere I look, I’m reminded of Ollie.”

  Everybody went quiet for a moment.

  “We’ll help in any way we can.” Charlie had dragged the old leather chair he favoured next to Cora’s.

  She straightened up and gave a short sigh. “Thank you … I know you are his friends and you are missing him too.” She leaned forward to pick up her mug, blew on the hot liquid that was sending curls of steam into the air. She managed a smile. “And you even remembered which is my favourite cup.”

  “Of course, my lovely, us gay men are good at that stuff.” Johnny gave a little wave of the hand, mocking the conventional wisdom on gay mannerisms.

  A ring of the doorbell interrupted their conversation.

  “DS Branning must have finished his smoke and his tea.” Beth stood up slowly. Her pink corduroy overall and matching striped pullover brought out the colour of her dark skin. She had just returned from Guyana where she had unashamedly enjoyed the sun, ignoring her mother’s complaints about her skin tone.

  Cora’s thoughts were transported to a happier time. She had shared a holiday with her friend, still remembering the quiet argument with her mother. “So what, mum … I’m black and black is beautiful. And I don’t need strange creams to make it look lighter.”

  Charlie went to the door and Beth took the opportunity to switch chairs.

  The voice that came from the corridor told everyone that DS Branning must still be on his break.

  Nat walked into the flat wrapped up in a emerging designer winter coat, created by one of her friends.

  “No bike today then?” Johnny eyed the coat with envy.

  “I didn’t feel like biking with a box of cupcakes balanced on my handlebars.”

  “Ooo … Hummingbird cakes, my favourite.” Johnny stood up to help with the distinctive purple and black cardboard box Natalie was carrying with caution across the floor.

  “No.” Nat interrupted. “Cora’s favourite.”

  Cora stood up slowly whilst Johnny was already opening the box.

  “You’re too good.” Cora wrapped her arms around her friend.

  Johnny started naming the cakes, pointing a famished finger at them.

  Cora looked at the mouth-watering selection. She stretched a hand forward and stopped herself in mid-air. There was no vanilla flavour, her favourite … perhaps there were none left in the shop. She chose salted caramel, Ollie’s favourite.

  Everybody gathered around and chatted about this and that.

  Cora was no longer listening. She took out her mobile from her pocket and checked for messages.

  Nothing.

  She placed the phone back in her jeans pocket and forced herself to eat another mouthful of cake.

  Charlie had quietly grabbed a bright orange beanbag and dumped it next to Cora’s leather chair. He sat there, leaning against the armrest. “How can we help?”

  The cheerful atmosphere disappeared. Everyone chewed their cupcakes in silence.

  “I just don’t want to get anyone into trouble.” Cora finally said after clearing her tight throat.

  “Nonsense.” Beth leaned forward, pressing her upper body sideways into the chair, an arm outstretched towards her friend. “We’re here for you just the way you and Ollie have always been there for us.”

  A murmur of general agreement spread amongst the others.

  Cora ruffled her spiky hair. “I don’t know … It’s about what I’ve seen. These people … they are …” she recalled what Nancy and Inspector Pole had said. “They are professionals.”

  Everybody looked at each other. It sounded … impossible.

  “You mean … like … hitmen?”

  “Johnny, that is not helpful.” Charlie’s frown was more serious than usual.

  “He’s right …” Cora nodded. “That’s exactly what I meant. They searched the flat methodically … I was hiding … then they chased me … and then …” Cora stopped herself dead. Should she be telling her friends all this?

  “Then what?” Nat asked. She hadn’t touched any of the cakes herself.

  Cora struggled to make up her mind. Talking to her friends seemed to make matters clearer in her head. The permanent fog in which she had been living since Ollie’s disappearance might start to lift.

  “… then they set the flat on fire.”

  Her friends were involved whether they liked it or not. Who knew whether those men might come back and finish the job by setting the entire building alight?

  “But why?” Beth asked.

  “They must have been looking for something …” Nat ventured.

  “That’s silly … You don’t set something you’re looking for on fire.” Johnny shrugged his shoulders.

  “Maybe they found what they were looking for … and destroyed the place afterwards to hide whatever it was they had taken.” Charlie’s thoughtful face looked more focused than ever.

  “Perhaps.” Cora abandoned her cake.

  “But where could Ollie have hidden anything?” Nat had chosen to settle on the floor, cross-legged.

  “I honestly don’t know …” Cora’s mind went back to the odd conversation she had had with Nancy.

  “You’re thinking about something?” Johnny encouraged her.

  “Did you remember anything when you were back at the flat with your friend Nancy?” Nat finally grabbed a salted caramel cupcake. Her sleeve rode up her arm, revealing part of her forearm. She pulled the fabric of her sweater sleeve down with a sharp move that almost made her drop the cake.

  Cora remained silent for a long moment and no one thought of interrupting her. “Perhaps there’s something among my installation props?”

  It was good to share with true friends.

  Chapter Seven

  “You really have a knack for it.” Harris’s voice bounced around the inside of his stationary car.

  “Coming from you that can’t be a good thing.” Pole glanced into the rear-view mirror of his car and changed lane. Today he had exchanged the motorbike for a
n unmarked police vehicle.

  “Admit it, Pole. You enjoy dabbling with MI6.” Harris’s grin could be heard in his voice.

  “You’ve got news about Ollie, I presume.” Pole slowed down as a set of traffic lights was turning red. He was in no rush to meet Superintendent Arthur Timothy Marsh.

  “I have … You are not the only one who is interested in this young man.”

  “That’s a bit of an understatement … He is lying in ICU, breathing through a respirator. The flat he lives in has been torched to a crisp and his girlfriend has been followed and intimidated … Someone is most definitely interested in Ollie Wilson.”

  “A good friend of mine from across the pond called me yesterday.”

  “About Ollie?” Pole’s voice sounded incredulous. “Are you the only agent at MI6 the CIA contacts when they need information about the UK?”

  “By the looks of it I’m the only agent one step ahead of everyone else …”

  Pole was now speeding down the Victoria Embankment along the River Thames. The few pedestrians walking along the stone pavement were hunched forward, collars up and heads down against the cold winter wind. The Thames was at its low watermark revealing its banks of sand and mud. Pole joined a short queue of vehicles that were preparing to turn right. In the distance the London Eye, carrying tourists packed into small pods, was slowly revolving.

  “What can you tell me that’s helpful to this case?” Pole had learned, whilst working undercover alongside Harris, that the man kept his cards close to his chest but that occasionally he was prepared to share valuable information.

  “Keep an open mind about what you think you see and what the evidence tells you.”

  “That’s a tad cryptic … You’re not the Oracle.”

  “Agreed … To be frank I’m not sure I know anything more myself.” Harris’s voice took on a serious tone. He was not holding back this time, or perhaps not as much as he usually did.

  “What’s in it for you, Harris?”

  “You’re pushing your luck … Let’s say the biotech world is starting to interest me more, whether run by small firms or large pharmaceutical companies.”