BLOOD DRAGON

by Freddie P Peters

  Jack took out his mobile, checked on his emails but decided it was too late to reply to any of them. One hour of rest to enjoy his food was well deserved.

  He swallowed four oysters, enjoying with them the warm French bread that accompanied the dish. Jack cast an eye casually towards the latecomer. The man had taken his smartphone out too, browsing absentmindedly through its contents. He lifted his head to look at the last customers around the room out of curiosity and returned to his browsing.

  The fish soup came and Jack tucked in, forgetting all about the man at the bar. The couple he had noticed a few seats away were readying themselves to go. She slid from the high stool, wobbled a little with a giggle. The man held open her coat and helped her to put it on. They were off, the night was still young for those two, Jack mused.

  The scallops came just as he had finished his soup. The aroma of saffron and cream made his mouth water. The restaurant was now almost empty. Another couple of men at a corner table were also departing. Jack checked his watch, 12.35am. He stifled a yawn. It had been a long day.

  The waiters around him were setting up the tables for the following day and yet there was no urgency in their movements. Jack finished the last morsel on his plate, mopped up with a piece of bread the remainder of the sauce and asked for the bill. The man on the other side of the bar seemed to have finished his food as well. He had settled the bill and downed the last of his beer. He zipped up his puffer jacket and rolled his scarf around his neck and face and made for the door.

  Jack left a couple of £50 notes in the tray. He thanked the waiters who thanked him in return. He slid into his winter jacket and found himself out in the cold again.

  Jack turned left, advanced a few yards and stopped. This was not the way he had come. He turned around to change direction. Two men started walking towards him from the top of the alleyway and another man appeared from a recess in the wall of the adjacent theatre. Jack very much doubted it was his money they were after.

  * * *

  “Yvonne is a source of unexpected help. I didn’t realise she had contacts in places such as MI6.”

  The dinner had been more relaxed than Nancy had anticipated. Both she and Pole were surprisingly good at putting their differences aside when it came to appreciating good food. She suspected that Pole’s early family life, with numerous brothers, sisters and friends joining the family table had given him a sense that a meal should be enjoyed to the full.

  “You can always discuss and exchange, but never quarrel, around the dinner table,” he once told Nancy when he started telling her more about his parents’ arty household.

  But dinner was over. Nancy had rustled up a dessert of vanilla ice cream, roasted almonds and melted toffee. Coffee had been brewed and she handed a cup to Pole. His shoulders had momentarily frozen when she had mentioned MI6 earlier.

  “Yvonne has been in the game for a rather long time. She always drives herself hard to deliver over and above. I’m not surprised she has contacts in unforeseen places.”

  Nancy poured herself a cup of coffee, giving herself time before replying. They had almost quarrelled a couple of hours ago. Did she want to make things worse? But she had taken matters for granted for far too long, ignoring what she was best at doing … asking the tough questions.

  Now was the time to apply the method she was known for to her own case. Whether she liked the immediate results or not, she was confident that in the long run she would not regret it.

  Pole drank his coffee in silence and stretched an arm over his head. It would take about forty minutes to reach his house in Clapham. Nancy refilled his cup without asking whether he wanted a top up.

  “I have always assumed that the information you have gathered for me about my father’s case came from the contact you have in Hong Kong.” She lifted her own cup to her lips and took a sip.

  “But it was lazy of me, Jonathan. I should have asked whether …” She lifted her face towards Pole with a small smile of regret. “… wheather these details came at a cost to yourself.”

  Pole’s eyes closed briefly.

  “I’m not talking about monetary costs, of course …” Nancy kept the conversation moving, hoping Pole would not clam up. “I have gone through all the data you have provided me with. It’s a lot more than I ever had before and certainly a lot more detailed.”

  Pole inhaled slowly. “It’s inevitable that I can’t always tell you where the information comes from. Not that I don’t trust you, but it is also why the details are of such good quality … my sources know I won’t reveal their names.”

  “Are they in danger?” Nancy had forgotten about her coffee. Her eyes searched Pole’s face for signs that would tell her what she needed to know.

  “No.” Pole had almost finished his cup.

  “Are you in danger?” Nancy grabbed his wrist as he was putting the cup back onto its saucer.

  “I’m a police officer, mon coeur … that comes with the territory.” Pole slid his hand over Nancy’s and squeezed gently.

  “That is not an answer.” Nancy frowned, her eyes narrowing with concern. “Is the gathering of information about my father putting you in any danger … at all?”

  Pole could not prevent a smile at the well-formulated question …

  “Don’t worry about your friend Pole.” He placed a light kiss on the palm of the hand he was holding.

  “That is not an answer either.” Nancy hesitated, her voice wavering a little. “If you are putting yourself in harm’s way for my sake, please stop. The chances of my father being alive are minuscule and even if he were, he would be a complete stranger. It is not worth endangering your life …”

  “But finding out will give you some much-needed peace of mind.” Pole grew serious.

  “I’d have to find peace of mind in some other way. What would definitely not bring me peace is if something were to happen to you. I couldn’t bear it.”

  Pole smiled again, a gentle smile. “Then you know how I feel when you go running after the bad guys without protection.”

  Nancy shook her head and smiled back. “I suppose I have to concede the argument, Inspector Pole.”

  “Very glad you do … at least for the time being. I’m sure I haven’t won my case yet.”

  Pole had left a short time afterwards. It felt like a stalemate. Nancy knew now that he had committed to some unpalatable deal in order to find the information she needed. She almost succumbed to a moment of recrimination, but thought better of it. It would not help her in her pursuit to find out what Pole had pledged he would do in return for information.

  She went into her study. She had reorganised it earlier, and all the loose papers had been filed apart from the two cases she was working on. The board she used to jot down notes, or messages to her cleaner, had now been transformed into a tracking board any good detective would have been proud of.

  It was covered with the relevant documents, photos and notes on yellow stickers. Her desk that was usually littered with books was now organised into piles of papers and they were all about two cases, Ollie’s and her father’s.

  * * *

  One of the men stopped turned his head towards something on the ground. Jack recognised the scarf of the man who had just left the Atlantic Bar before him. So perhaps it was a mugging after all.

  But the coolness with which the three men were closing in on him told him otherwise. He had heard the door of the restaurant lock behind him. By the time he had gone back and attracted the attention of the staff inside, the men would be upon him leaving him little chance of escape.

  Jack dug into his jacket pockets in search for something he could use. There was nothing in there except for a packet of Kleenex and what must have been the wrapper of an old chocolate bar. His best bet was to tackle the single man, but the moment he turned away the others would be in pursuit. The third assailant had to delay Jack
for the others to catch up and he looked more than able to do that … large shoulders hunched forward, thick neck, the sort of man you imagine as a bouncer or Butcher.

  In the dark of the night something glimmered to his left. The Atlantic Bar staff had taken in all the tables and chairs that stood outside under the electric heaters. The lane looked a little broader than when he had arrived and someone had left an empty beer bottle lying on the ground that the staff had not removed.

  Jack took another step forward, crouched to the ground seemingly to tighten up a non-existent shoelace. He measured the distance to run to the top of the lane. The big man was now moving slowly, waiting for the others to catch him up. Still, he was advancing and in only a few moments he would be upon him.

  Jack leapt sideways, grabbing the bottle in one scoop, smashing it against the wall. The sudden move startled the man but only for an instant. Jack reached him in a couple of steps, avoiding the man’s fist by a whisker, and planted the broken glass in his face.

  The man yelled and pulled back. His colleagues sprinted towards Jack. He ran the few yards towards the top of the alleyway and dived left. He might as well try to make it back to the hotel although he doubted he would be able to reach it before the other two had caught up with him.

  The road was completely empty. Jack kept going, running in the middle of the street, hoping a cab might still materialise at this late hour. The resonant sound of pounding footsteps told him they were getting closer. He had reached Trafalgar Square and the traffic picked up a little.

  A few cars were waiting at the traffic light, ready to be funnelled into the one-way system. Jack changed direction and made towards the pavement running alongside the square. His foot caught on the kerb and he came crashing down. He contained the pain, rolled to his side and managed to stand up.

  The men had almost caught up with him. He started running again, but it was too late as a solid fist slammed into his back sending him flying over the concrete ground. He rolled again onto his side with a yelp of pain, managing a well-placed kick onto the kneecap of his assailant. Jack used the tree next to which he had fallen to stand up and shield himself from the next blow.

  The other men had caught up with him and Jack stood back, fists at the ready, facing his two aggressors. One of the men lifted his hands, palms outstretched, left leg anchored behind him. The other started circling around Jack. These people had been trained in combat. The moves looked strangely similar to karate, but had an edge that made them more like wrestling.

  The shriek of a police siren went almost unnoticed. The man to Jack’s right swung his leg in an impressive arc and caught Jack in the chest before he had time to swing his body sideways. The second slammed a semi closed fist into his kidneys.

  The police car screeched to a halt and four police officers ran towards them, shouting instructions to stop and pull back. The final kick almost got Jack in the face, but he parried the blow with a strong-arm defence.

  The two men ran off with two officers in pursuit. Jack tried to articulate a sentence as the other two officers approached him with caution. He caught his breath and managed to articulate the words … Steve Harris.

  * * *

  “Where is she?” Nancy was walking through her apartment, gathering a set of keys, her bag and coat. The voice at the other end of her mobile was getting more strained by the minute. “I’m on my way … just try to get her to wait somehow.”

  Nancy ran out of the door without locking it. She pressed the lift button a few times, hurriedly. She arrived in the building’s garage less than two minutes later. Another minute and she was sitting inside her Aston Martin. It would not have been her choice of vehicle, despite its enviable reputation, but it had belonged to an old friend and she was loath to sell it.

  The key had started the engine by remote activation. She engaged the gears into drive and slid out of the car park in the direction of the Viro-Tech offices.

  She slowed down as she was approaching her destination. She had inserted her mobile into the hands-free holder on the dashboard and Beth was on the phone.

  “We couldn’t stop her any longer … she’s gone into Martha’s Buildings.”

  Nancy parked the car in a side street, got out and ran towards the lane she had visited earlier that day. Beth, Charlie and Johnny were huddled together in a small doorway that could hardly contain them.

  “She’s gone mad.” Johnny was flapping his arms. “She’s trying to get in.”

  Nancy gave Beth her car keys. “Aston Martin a block away, wait for me there.”

  Nancy walked into the alleyway and stood still a few steps in … listening for the noise of someone moving around. There were no sounds at all and she feared Cora had already started her ascent of the office building. Even if she reached the top, which Nancy very much doubted, it was unlikely that the roof would be any less secure than the rest of the building.

  The office blocks in the small lane formed a continuous wall without any gaps. The streetlamps were providing very little light, some corners remaining in pitch black darkness. Nancy recalled that the small street turned into a dead end on the right that provided space for cars to park. She took a few steps forward. Then stopped again in the hope of hearing a sound that would betray Cora’s position.

  Still nothing.

  She scanned the façade of the building. There was no movement there. Nancy judged that there was little chance a security guard would be patrolling the street.

  “Cora …” she called softly. “It’s Nancy … we need to talk. I have an idea.”

  Nothing broke the heavy silence. Nancy’s eyes had become accustomed to the dim lighting of the place. She spotted a few cars still parked at the top of the lane. She found it hard to believe people could still be working at this late hour … but perhaps they were. If so, she had to find Cora urgently.

  “Cora … please.” She took a chance and spoke a little louder.

  No answer.

  Nancy scanned the front of the Viro-Tech building and squinted. Flat against the wall, a form was stretched between two window sills, paused in what looked like an impossible climb.

  Nancy moved to stand below the figure on the wall two floors up.

  “Cora, this is not going to lead you anywhere …”

  Nancy was about to plead again with her friend, but a light came on in the small lobby. Someone had entered the lift and alighted at ground level. There was no way Cora could make it down before that person came out.

  Nancy looked around. She dived into the recess of the backyard, hoping that whoever came out would be using a car facing in the right direction, away from her.

  The door of Viro-Tech opened. Nancy ventured to take a look. Jared Turner, Viro-Tech’s CEO had been working late … very late.

  He stood outside for a moment, uncertain, perhaps sensing the disturbance in the quiet environment of the secluded alleyway. He ran a hand over his face and walked towards one of the cars. He would need to turn around and was bound to spot Nancy huddled in the corner of the yard.

  Nancy spotted a tall rubbish container. She squeezed behind it, holding her breath and staying as still as she could. She could no longer see what was happening in the lane. If Turner raised his eyes as he got into his car, he would spot the figure attempting to climb his building.

  The beams of two headlights swept the small courtyard in a semi-circle, paused and moved forward to finally disappear. Nancy waited for a few moments and extracted herself from her hiding place. When she reached the front of the Viro-Tech building Cora was already back on the ground.

  “I can get into this building, you know.” Cora was not defiant, she had seen a way in.

  Nancy took a minute to consider what her friend had said. “You mean to say that you can access Viro-Tech from another building?”

  In the semi darkness a smile showed on Cora’s face.

&nbs
p; “If that’s the case, we need to plan your visit a bit better than this.”

  Cora’s smile vanished. “You mean …”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  His hand crept towards the source of the noise. Pole’s fingers tried to make sense of what they were touching before finding the right button to press. He placed the phone against his ear without speaking.

  “Rise and shine mate …” Harris’s East End accent was a little more pronounced than usual.

  Pole blinked, finding it hard to focus. He rolled onto his side towards the bedside clock.

  “What time do you call this?”

  “Time to get out of bed and meet for breakfast … and before you complain, I’ve been up since 4am.” Harris was almost cheerful.

  Pole sunk back into his pillow. “Why should I?” Even though he was playing hard to get, Pole knew he would meet Harris. Harris was not a time waster. Still, Harris could not expect to ask and be granted.

  “Cause I have some information about your case and because the CIA got a beating. Normally I couldn’t care less but he is a pal and he’s getting close to something people don’t want him to find.”

  Pole threw the covers away. “Where?”

  “Small caf, not that far from you … near the Oval cricket ground. It’s called Kennington Lane Café.”

  “Seriously?” Pole was gathering his clothes in the darkness of his room. He remembered he was home and alone, sadly … and switched on the light.

  “What’s wrong with a greasy spoon at 6am in the morning anyway?”

  “Everything …” Pole grumbled.

  “And Pole.” Harris chuckled. “Think twice about bringing that fancy motorbike of yours.”

  “It’s true that if you park your shitty car next to it, it’ll look a lucky prize worth nicking … Just leave your rust bucket on the corner.” Pole killed the call and moved to the bathroom for a much needed cooling off shower.