BLOOD DRAGON

by Freddie P Peters

  The young female officer gave her side of the story again, adding a few small details about when she started her shift. She hadn’t left her position since then, and everything had looked normal apart from the sudden deterioration in Ollie’s condition.

  Pole was about to ask more questions when the doors of the ICU monitoring room’s doors slid open. A woman in blue medical scrubs and operating theatre cap walked slowly towards them. She anticipated the question. “He is alive.”

  Cora collapsed on the nearest chair, holding onto Nancy’s hand.

  “Let’s all get ourselves a cup of tea.” She moved towards the vending machines and Pole took her cue. They disappeared away from the others. They spoke quietly as they organised teas for everyone. Pole made a face and ran his hand through his hair.

  Pole came back with the cups. The ICU registrar returned to her workstation. The doors slid open and shut without revealing what was happening beyond the frosted glass.

  “The tests are going to take some time.” Pole sat down next to Cora. “You may want to go back home. As you can see, the hospital is very good at keeping us informed and PC Craven will let us know if we need to return. DS Branning is waiting downstairs.”

  Cora slumped back into her chair. “I don’t have a home.” She ignored the cup of tea Pole was handing to her. He placed it on a coffee table nearby.

  “I know it is hard for you. But you have my word, the minute I hear anything from the hospital, you will know.”

  “Jonathan is right, Cora. Staying here won’t change a thing.” Nancy moved closer to her young friend.

  Cora relented. She looked exhausted and disoriented. Pole and Nancy tried to reassure her. She was simply nodding without listening.

  After a short moment, Pole started walking back towards the lift. Nancy hesitated. PC Craven was also trying to convince Cora to go home. Nancy managed to reach Pole as he walked through the opening doors.

  “If it is about this afternoon …” Pole’s jaw stiffened a little.

  “No.” Nancy shook her head, releasing a strand of hair from a hairpin. “I need to give you some information which I gathered this afternoon.”

  Pole breathed in deeply. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Ollie Wilson spoke to Cora yesterday.”

  His face tightened further. Why did she not tell him sooner?

  Nancy replied before he could ask. “It wasn’t a full-blown conversation … it was only one word … innocent.”

  She carried on. “I also spent a little time at his office. Before you tell me I’m a fool, I can assure you that the CEO of that organisation does not want people getting too close to Ollie or whatever it was he was researching. He did not tell me he would not be around for a while, but simply pretended he was unwell. He equally did not welcome a lawyer asking questions, even on the pretext of making a substantial investment.”

  “Did he become suspicious?”

  “Difficult to say. I offered to invest a large enough amount of money in his business. If he checks my credentials they will hold. Granted it is a departure from what I usually invest in, but neither is it completely ridiculous.”

  They had reached the ground floor. Branning was sitting in the main lobby, leafing through a newspaper.

  Pole’s face was still closed. “Fine … I’ll take note. We need to find out more about the type of work he was carrying out, I agree. But I can’t just barge into Viro-Tech with a search warrant without good evidence.”

  “Which is why I wanted to ask those questions.”

  Pole looked at his watch. “I need to speak to Andy, but I can be at yours in a couple of hours.”

  Nancy sighed. It was going to take more than a good bottle of wine and an excellent dinner to assuage Inspector Pole’s anger.

  * * *

  “I’ve asked the team to gather as much information as they can on the building.” Jethro was on the loudspeaker. Jack considered whether he had invited the team to listen in, but no, it was just the Station Chief who was talking and browsing through his emails at the same time.

  “Thanks for that.” Jack had discovered a little café on Fleet Street, the street that once used to be home to all the major newspaper offices in London. He was on his way back to his hotel, having wandered around the City’s business district for a while.

  He settled at a window table in the Fleet Street Presscafé. The place felt cosy, old photographs that looked genuine, from the days when Fleet Street was the centre of the press industry, covered the walls.

  “I’m curious to check whether the security in and around the building was included originally or whether it is an upgrade. And if it is, when they decided to increase their protection.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I have gathered the intel. And this Asian woman, Ms Wu, I’ll see what I can do.” Jack heard Greeney typing, already calling up her name in his database, but as a prerogative of his position, he would only tell Jack what he felt he could reveal.

  Jack’s coffee arrived. He needed a couple of these to stay awake. Still, this would do as a start. He would simply take his time. And perhaps a call to Laurie wouldn’t go amiss.

  “You’re on holiday …” Laurie was, as always, eating her lunch at her desk.

  “I know, but I won’t be able to have a proper holiday if my mind keeps coming back to the case I left behind.”

  “And how can I help with this high anxiety of yours, Jack. I would not want to spoil your fun.” Laurie had stopped chewing.

  “The office where Ollie Wilson worked looked rather well protected when I last looked at a picture of it … even more so from close up.”

  “Address please?” Laurie resumed her munching.

  Jack gave the address of Viro-Tech Therapeutics.

  “Okay, I’m there. What do you want to know?”

  “How secure is it?”

  “Extremely secure … very little infrared penetration, a room with heavy plating security to avoid eavesdropping. High grade glass on the windows. An autonomous electrical system in case of breakdown, very fancy … what are they doing there? And in the middle of the City as well.”

  “I’m not sure yet. Now can you tell me whether the high spec of the building is recent or was it that secure when first built.”

  “It’ll take me a bit more time to find out, but I’d be very surprised if a building in the middle of London came up to that spec to start with. It’s the sort of security that exists in a scientific research park, not in regular offices.”

  “Even if this place is part of the so-called Silicon Roundabout?”

  “Tech companies can operate without that level of security … it’s usually their cyber security that matters. This smacks more of bio-hazard or unauthorised bio-research.”

  Laurie had given up on her food. “I’ll do more research on how they dispose of their waste and rubbish. That’s a very good clue to what’s going on inside a building.”

  “Brilliant … I’m much pacified …”

  “That’s it?” Laurie’s voice rose a little, disappointed … couldn’t Jack do better than that?

  “Well, if you insist …”

  “Today is your lucky day … I’m in the right mood. I’m all giving and compassionate.”

  “I am after a Ms Wu, who is presumed to live in London.”

  “Now we’re talking … Wu is one of the commonest surnames in China but I’m lucky we are talking about London, the one in the UK perhaps?”

  Jack chuckled.

  “I’ll call you with some results at the end of the day … I mean at the end of my day.”

  “Anytime … even after midnight.”

  “No, I wouldn’t do that … you need your beauty sleep.” Laurie hung up. Jack stretched and stood up. He was ready for a long walk all the way back to Trafalgar Square.

  He was picking up
his backpack when a call came through.

  Agent Harris too seemed to have news to share.

  * * *

  A couple of pieces of duck confit were slowly cooking in the oven. She had prepared a salad of lamb’s lettuce and rocket accompanied by walnuts and seasoned with her own homemade vinaigrette. Nancy had chosen the type of comfort food they both liked. They would certainly need it after what was about to be an uneasy conversation.

  She had asked herself so many times whether she should have done things differently, but how could she have? Her instinct had always served her well and she needed to be allowed to follow her intuition. It was true that she had taken a back seat when it came to investigating her father’s disappearance. She knew why, but her days of letting people take risks for her were over.

  Pole would not like that either.

  She sighed.

  Her appetite for calculated risks. Her ability to push a little further than any of her colleagues at the Bar had made her the successful QC she had been.

  The box for the accused is empty.

  Nancy sits at the front of the courtroom. The man for whom she’s working as a trainee Barrister, Jacques Vergès, is preparing to address the jury. For most of the trial, Klaus Barbie has been absent. He has argued successfully, although his request is premature, that his extradition from Bolivia in 1984 is illegal and has asked to be returned to his cell. The crimes committed by Barbie, also known as the Butcher of Lyon during World War II are what one would expect from a Gestapo Chief … torture, murder, deportation of Jews to concentration camps. He is hated not only for his long list of crimes against humanity but also for the murder of Jean Moulin, one of the most prominent resistance chiefs in France.

  Verges has taken the case, not because he sympathises with Barbie, but because it is a platform for him to talk about the crimes committed by France and other colonialists around the world. Verges is a controversial Barrister. He is also supremely gifted in court. No one can stop listening to what he has to say. He captivates his audience. He makes them pay attention until he has finished his argument for the defence, no matter how unpalatable the facts.

  Nancy is in awe. She has almost forgotten the 730 Jews and “résistants” who have deposited statements about the atrocities he committed. But she too has been brought up in an environment that condemns, without appeal, colonialism. Verges displays an understanding of the politics of World War II that is breathtaking.

  When the sentencing occurs, he manages to get certain charges dropped against his client on the basis that French citizens who committed the same crimes as Barbie under the Vichy regime and in French Algeria, escaped prosecution. Verges maintains that the Butcher of Lyon’s crimes are no worse than the actions committed by colonialists worldwide.

  Verges loses, of course, and Barbie is condemned. Winning was never the point though, and Verges knows that. He is a man with a mission, that of exposing corrupt political systems. And yet Nancy does not stay in France after she completes her training. She understands the dilemma of any Barrister who defends the indefensible. She’s not yet ready to politicise her choice of cases … that will come later.

  A presence in the room startled her. Pole had materialised in the flat. She hadn’t heard the door. He looked harassed and she was shaken. Time for an honest conversation.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Thanks Laurie … I’ll take a look right away.” Jack hung up and fell back into the pillows of his large bed. He had organised a few of them against the upholstered headboard. His laptop lay open on one side and a couple of newspapers had been casually abandoned on the other.

  Jack stretched his hand towards the bedside table. He had stopped at an off licence on the way back. On the shop assistant’s advice, he had purchased a bottle of Portuguese red wine, Quinta Vista. He had been dubious but decided to try something different whilst in London. The wine the shopkeeper had sold him gave off an intense aroma of black and red berries, with a hint of chocolate and vanilla … whatever it was he was tasting, Jack was enjoying this latest discovery.

  He had also spotted a little deli shop adjacent to the wine shop. Jack had stopped there too, showed them the bottle and ended up with a couple of cheeses … one French Brie de Meaux and a British Kidderton ash goat cheese. Jack stabbed a piece of Brie he had pre-cut on a small plate and placed it in his mouth … delicious. He took another mouthful of wine … heaven.

  He was about to press a couple of keys on his laptop to check his email inbox but his eyes fell on the paragraph in the document he had been reading when Laurie called. The preliminary report delivered by Senator McCain’s senior policy advisor had started on a grim note.

  But Jack took the introductory words with a pinch of salt. It was not the first time that a report sought to attract attention by announcing the doom of the US military.

  Jack reread the sentence that had attracted his attention and pondered again on the definition of ‘kill chain’. It was a term that everybody in the US military used but seldom talked about in other circles, including the CIA.

  On the battlefield, the kill chain is essential. It is the process by which the army command acquires an understanding of what is happening in the field, then decides what response is the most adequate, finally taking action to achieve the results it has decided upon. The name of the game, of course, is to break the kill chain of the adversary as fast and as often as possible to win the confrontation.

  Although acknowledging the technical superiority of the US army and its appetite for continuing to seek technical advances, the paper argued that there were other ways war should now be envisaged. It took, as an example, recent movements seen on the frontier between the Ukraine and Russia. Something was brewing but US forces seemed equipped against an opponent like Russia that was willing to use surprising tactics.

  Jack’s glass was empty. He considered whether he should indulge into another … he was on holiday after all. He refilled the glass and carried on reading, letting himself sink into the pillows that were propping up his back.

  One of the report’s conclusions was clear. The US army’s technological advantage was fading fast and one reason for this was that the most important technical advances the military needed were being developed by the private sector.

  These were issues that neither Russia nor China had. Both countries were quite prepared to requisition the technology they needed when they needed it, whether the owners and developers liked it or not.

  Jack laid the laptop back on the bed. He folded the newspapers into a neat pile, swung his legs across the side of the bed and stood up. He was only a couple of feet away from the large window that overlooked Northumberland Avenue. The street was brightly lit and as he moved closer to the glass, he caught a glimpse of Nelson’s column illuminated.

  The night sky felt low and heavy, making Trafalgar Square look bright and almost festive. Nelson’s statue bathed in a greenish light that gave him an almost fluorescent glow. Jack shook his head. He wondered what the great generals and admirals of the past would make of the way warfare was evolving.

  Jack leaned for a moment against the window frame. Despite the double glazing the cold had started to creep in. He shivered and pulled the curtains halfway across, still keen to enjoy some of the view’s postcard quality.

  He was about to grab his jacket and put his on shoes, to leave the room in search of a small restaurant for dinner, when he remembered Laurie’s email. He had asked for a favour and she would be expecting some feedback. He slumped back onto the bed, turned the laptop towards him and opened the message.

  She had sent him the details of the security measures that had recently been added to the Viro-Tech building. It was indeed as Jack had suspected, improvements over and above what Fort Knox might have considered impregnable.

  * * *

  Pole’s mobile rang. He hesitated and snatched it from his jacket pock
et. The name on the screen made his face drop. His eyes focused on the keypad as he pressed answer.

  “Inspector Pole.” His voice was formal, ready for any news the caller might give him. He moved to the far end of the room and then disappeared into the kitchen. If he needed space, Nancy would give him that.

  She had already taken the plates and cutlery out of the cupboards to lay the table for dinner. She started slowly to arrange them. Pole’s voice floated in and out of the room, in small bursts. Questions she could not understand, followed by what seemed interminable answers.

  Nancy went back to the oven to check the meat. Its nutty smell made her mouth water. She hadn’t had much to eat during the day and her stomach started to complain. The salad was ready to toss. She uncorked a bottle of red wine, realising she should have let it breathe a little longer.

  The sound of Pole’s voice had stopped. She wondered whether he was still in the room, waited a few moments and stuck her head through the door. Pole had dropped onto the large couch, elbows on knees and hands clenched in front of his mouth. Nancy moved to the armchair closest to him and sat down slowly. She didn’t have to ask.

  “Ollie Wilson will not wake up.” Pole had spoken in the neutral tone she knew he used to hide the sorrow he felt at times when his professionalism did not allow him to show his emotions.

  They both sat in silence, struggling to come to terms with the news.

  “The UCH registrar called me to confirm what she’d suspected.”

  “But how is that possible?” Nancy’s croaky voice sounded almost inaudible.

  “It’s not the result of his overdose in Camden …” Pole let his arms fall to his sides, his eyes fixed on the mobile phone he had dropped on the coffee table. “Someone injected him with a fresh dose of drugs … an opiate of some sort.”

  “You mean … someone came into Ollie’s room to administer it?”

  “That’s the only way it could have happened … it was injected into the drip they fitted when he first arrived.” Pole picked up the phone and replaced it carefully on the table. “Of course, I’ll have to interview the two PCs who have been on duty the whole time he has been in hospital, but I’ll be surprised if it has anything to do with those two.”