BLOOD DRAGON

by Freddie P Peters

  She read the titles in a low voice as they came out one after the other.

  Human intervention in the food chain: Animal to human viral transmission, an increased risk, by Ollie Wilson.

  Antibiotic resistant microbes – the future of pandemics, by Ollie Wilson.

  There were a few more papers written by him on similar topics … arguing how vital proper research was in areas that might not yield immediate monetary results, the impact of bioinformatics on data harvesting and how it could accelerate the initial phase of research in the fields of virology and immunology.

  Cora pushed the papers around cautiously with her gloved fingers.

  She found a transcript of several of Bill Gates’ interventions on the subject of epidemics and pandemics.

  Finally, she tried to make sense of a document that had been folded on itself. She hesitated, reaching deep into the envelope to pull out the item. The meetings schedule of Jared Turner over the past year, with dates circled in red and marked ‘China’, emerged.

  * * *

  Her mobile was ringing again. Nancy’s meeting with Superintendent Marsh had been confirmed for 1pm. She grabbed her phone, half hoping it was Denise, Marsh’s PA, proposing a new date or even better cancelling. It was not Denise, but the name of the caller made her smile.

  “Yvonne … What do you have for me?”

  “To be more precise … what my contact has for you. I’ve got to say the turnaround time rather surprises me. I was bracing myself for a long two weeks and a few calls reminding my contact we were expecting an answer soon … but here we are.”

  “Which means?”

  “Whatever or whoever the document deals with is very much on their radar.”

  “That’s rather strange.” Nancy could not decide whether she was pleased or concerned. “It’s a very old case and apart from me, I don’t see who at MI6 …” Her mouth ran dry. She had just been handed the answer to a question that had been puzzling her for a couple of days.

  “Well, it seems this file is red hot at the moment … don’t ask me why … they wouldn’t tell me but the document you sent me and the photos are authentic.”

  For a moment she was lost for words. She had suspected this to be the case, but she needed to be certain. All she knew about her father or thought she knew, was being overturned by the revelation she had just received.

  Who had her father really been?

  Yvonne waited for a moment. “Won’t you tell me who it is we are talking about?”

  “I’d rather not Yvonne, a few people have been hurt in the process, so perhaps the less you know …”

  “So very kind of you to be protective, but let me worry about my own safety.” Yvonne had once demonstrated her ability to defend herself when an ill-intentioned thug had tried to steal her bag as she and Nancy were coming out of a small bar next to where she worked. The knee she stuck into his groin and the fingers in his eyes had done the trick.

  “On the other hand, Nancy, if you’d rather not talk about it for other reasons, it is fine by me. I’m not insisting, I’m just trying to help.”

  “And it’s very much appreciated.” Nancy fidgeted with a few pieces of paper that lay on the coffee table. “How much detail is your contact able to give me? Reasons why they think the documents and photos are authentic, for example.”

  “Funny you should say that … my contact is prepared to be generous about the information they have gathered.”

  “And what does your contact want in return?” There would never be a free lunch with MI6 and she was prepared to accept it.

  “As I mentioned before, the results of your investigation using this information, whatever they are.”

  “I still don’t quite see the benefit to the agency. Do they have something specific in mind?”

  “If they have, they haven’t told me and I can’t imagine they would. But my experience is like yours. There is something they are going to get out of all this.”

  “Fine, when do I get the extra information?”

  “If you come to the lab later on, the USB key should be with me by then.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  Nancy sat still for a moment. The implications of what she had learned were astonishing. Her father had suddenly become a stranger. But perhaps it should not have been such a surprise.

  She was only a young girl when they’d left China and a mere adolescent when he left Paris.

  He had only showed to her the side he had wanted to, the artist, the man of skill and knowledge. She had discovered him through her own eyes but also through her parents’ artist friends. After he had left, she had retained this image of him until she had decided to stop remembering.

  She glanced at her watch. It was almost time to leave for an appointment she did not want to attend. Denise had been apologetic about the short notice, but the Super had insisted on meeting her sooner rather than later. She had not managed to speak to Pole to prepare herself.

  Never mind.

  It was not the first time she would have to improvise.

  She went up to her bedroom and en-suite dressing room. She pulled out a severe black suit she had not worn since she had gone to court for the Henry Crowne trial. She added a plain white blouse and chose simple black pearls as jewellery.

  In the bathroom she applied a little makeup and twisted her jet-black hair into a low sitting bun.

  She had time to check on Cora.

  * * *

  “Oh my God … Nancy, your call startled me.” Cora’s voice was almost inaudible.

  “Are you okay?” Nancy would cancel the Marsh meeting if Cora needed her.

  “I’m fine … it’s just …” There was movement around her that Nancy could not make out. “Something has happened, or rather, I’ve received something important.”

  A door closed and Cora started speaking a little louder.

  “I’ve received a parcel or rather … there was a parcel that has been returned to Ollie undelivered. It was addressed to someone in Hong Kong. Someone I don’t know. But that person never received it so it has come back here.”

  A shiver ran down Nancy’s spine. “Have you opened it?”

  “Don’t be mad … of course I have. I did it with gloves on, though.”

  “What was inside?”

  “Academic papers written by Ollie, on biology … immunology … pandemics … a lot of complicated research, I think. Then transcripts from some of Bill Gates’ lectures … again about epidemics and pandemics. Then something odd … the timetable of Jared Turner’s meetings on a trip to China.”

  “Do you have a photocopier or scanner in your flat?”

  “We do.”

  “This is what you are going to do. Photocopy the documents. When you have done that, speak to Branning and apologise for opening the envelope … Tell him you didn’t notice it was redirected to Ollie … Or whatever you think he’ll buy. I’ll drop by after lunch. Don’t show the documents to anybody else.”

  “Shall I do a bit of research in the meantime?”

  “On what?”

  “I could find out more about the documents themselves.”

  “If you do, do it incognito in your search engine and don’t forget to erase the history on your browser after you’ve finished.”

  Nancy could hear Cora smile. “Not the first time you’ve sailed close to the wind, then.”

  “Indeed, and not the last time either.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The stairwell resounded with the weight of his footsteps. Pole ignored the lift and climbed down the four floors that separated Marsh’s office from his own. He had almost missed a step at the beginning of his descent, his focus still on his latest conversation. He was now concentrating on the stairs, pounding them in anger. But truly, who did he have to blame but himself?

 
Another colleague had started his journey upstairs. He greeted Pole with an out of breath smile and carried on. Pole stopped on the third floor and took a moment to gather himself. Would he have done anything different though?

  Almost certainly not and that answer bothered him.

  He walked into the open plan office, straight to his DS’s desk. Andy was concentrating on his work, oblivious to Pole’s shadow hovering over him.

  “Anything you need?”

  “I’m examining the payments received by Ollie Wilson. The Swiss account is a numbered bank account, with no name associated with it … yet.” He was tucking fervently into a packet of jellybeans. He offered it to Pole without shifting his eyes from his screen. “Have some, Guv …”

  Pole considered the packet, took it from Andy and grabbed a few beans. A little sweetness at the moment would not go amiss.

  “How long before you know?”

  Andy rotated his chair to face his boss. “A few hours maybe. I have a call with a federal police colleague in Switzerland. They’ve contacted the bank that holds the account. Anonymity is no longer what it used to be in Switzerland … but we shall see.”

  He looked into the sweet packet, fingers hovering to seize one of his favourites. “But I’m certain there will be yet another account somewhere more difficult to reach such as the Cayman Islands or Lichtenstein.”

  “But what would that tell us?”

  “That whoever is paying is a fishy customer.”

  “That’s right.” Pole dragged over a chair and sat down. “Remind me when the payments started.”

  “Four months ago.”

  “And when did Wilson open the account?”

  Andy returned to his screen and checked a different document from two years earlier, according to the Jersey bank records.

  “The opening is legit. His father opened the account with him, just as Wilson moved to the UK. His father sent him some cash then. If I compare it with movements on his London current account, the cash was used for renting the flat, furnishing it … stuff like that, and before you ask, I’ve also checked the opening of the current account. It’s with a well-known UK bank.”

  “Nothing unusual there?”

  Andy shook his head. “But suddenly, four months ago, Wilson starts receiving payments into and making payments from the Jersey account.”

  “Didn’t the Jersey bank ask any questions about why that was happening? Isn’t that part of the anti-money laundering rules, that you investigate sudden changes in patterns in a particular bank account?”

  “I raised that point with the bank and they are coming back to me with an answer.” Andy crunched a couple of jellybeans between his teeth.

  “Sooner rather than later would be good, otherwise I might be tempted to speak to the financial authorities about this lapse in judgement.”

  “I’ll relay the message.” Andy chuckled. “Firing on all cylinders this morning, Gov.”

  Pole couldn’t help but smile … his new means of transportation seemed to be inspiring his team of late.

  “It’s very convenient don’t you think … suddenly, questionable transactions start showing up in Wilson’s account, fed by what is almost certainly dirty money.”

  “Perhaps he was made an offer he could not resist?”

  “Perhaps …” Pole extended his arm quickly to reveal his watch. “I’ll give Yvonne a call … We need to know what drugs were used on Wilson, and whether we’ve made inroads with the identity of the guy lying on the mortuary slab.”

  “He’s almost certainly Russian.” Andy pulled a knowing face.

  Pole cocked his head surprised.

  “Because the tattoo on his neck … the only one we can still make out the shape of, has a knife through it.”

  “One of those mafia tattoos that tells you about the con who wears it?”

  “That’s right, and apparently it means the man has killed in prison and is available for hire.”

  “May I ask where you got that information from … a reputable source I presume?”

  “Ms Wu has a reputation.”

  “I’m aware.” Pole grumbled. He appreciated the fact that Andy had not qualified which way that reputation was going.

  Pole left his DS’s desk and went into his office. He navigated his way through the piles of files that he had rearranged the day before. He stood in front of one of them and extracted the folder he was looking for from a dangerously high tower of papers. He dialled Yvonne’s number from his landline, removing his jacket and loosening the tie he had knotted awkwardly for his meeting with Marsh.

  “Pole … what’s up?”

  “You tell me. I hear we’ve made progress on the ID of our John Doe.”

  “Da … that’s the extent of my Russian. But yes, I’ve photographed the wound left by the tattoo removal procedure again and I’m convinced it is a knife or dagger that goes through his neck. The tattoo was pretty intricate and its removal tricky, which was helpful for us.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’ve asked the team to find out from the list of the most wanted on Europol and Interpol whether we have a match. I ran his fingerprints through AFIS and there’s nothing there.”

  “Are we dealing with one of those ghosts that the old KGB produced?”

  “Quite possibly. On second examination, I noticed his fingerprints had been damaged, probably using some caustic substance like acid. It’s a well-known technique.”

  “Is he old enough to be KGB?”

  “A man in his mid-40s, so yes. He would have been young but he could have been KGB, then FSB … and then recruited by the mafia.”

  “You seem to know quite a lot about that.”

  “I know a lot about many things, Inspector Pole. I have seen dead bodies from all walks of life on the slab of this mortuary and spies are no exception.”

  Pole did not welcome the news … Harris was going to want to know more if he was to provide him with the information he needed, and Marsh was likely to start easing himself into what might become a high profile case.

  “What about the drugs injected into Wilson?”

  “I was coming to that … patience.” Yvonne was moving around her lab. “Right … heroin produced from poppy seeds grown in Afghanistan.”

  “Anything else about how the drug was produced that could help us identify the people who administered it?”

  “Good quality. It’s the amount that was given that caused the damage, not the way it was produced.”

  “Any trace of that batch in the UK?”

  “Nothing I have previously identified, but I’m asking other labs for a comparison check. And you may want to speak to the NARCS. They will be able to tell you whether they’ve encountered the same batch or quality in one of their raids.”

  Pole thanked Yvonne and hung up. Harris had mentioned Ollie’s past involvement with drugs. It had almost cost him his PhD. Harris did not buy the connection and on balance neither did he, but he could not fight the evidence. A Russian connection in the biotech world … why not?

  * * *

  “Thank you.” Jack took his time to get out of the car. The Station Chief had sent a car to drive Jack back to his accommodation. His face was now turning an unhealthy shade of yellow and blue, and his limping completed the picture of a man who had had a rough night. The receptionist who had welcomed him a day earlier opened her eyes wide, and left her desk to check he was alright.

  “I’m fine,” he managed to say through a sore jaw.

  “I hope you don’t mind my saying Sir, but you don’t look it … is there anything we can do?”

  Jack appreciated the thought but said he could manage.

  “I’ll send some ice packs up.” She was not taking no for an answer.

  The driver had accompanied him inside and left a number for him to call
in case of need. Jack hobbled towards the lift with as much dignity as he could muster. A couple of other guests emerged from the opening doors and took a surprised look at him.

  A few moments later Jack entered the small cosy lounge that was adjacent to his bedroom and looked around. The room had been cleaned and the bed made. It was tidy and welcoming but he would no longer have time to relax in it. He turned towards the safe and retrieved his laptop. He checked on the arrangement of objects he had positioned to detect whether the safe had been opened. They indicated that no one had tampered with it in his absence.

  He went back to the lounge, laid the laptop on the coffee table and logged on. Time to check what Laurie had found out for him.

  In a sea of unopened emails he found what he was looking for.

  “Call me,” was all she had to say.

  This was not what he had anticipated. He had no means of screening his room. He could ask Jethro for help, but the Station Chief would want to know more. Harris, on the other hand, might be more accommodating.

  Jack replied but looking at the clock on the side table, he realised it was only 5.30am in Langley. She was almost certainly getting ready by now, but it was perhaps a little too early to call.

  He moved to brew a fresh cup of coffee and when done, made himself comfortable on his bed to finish reading the McCain report.

  The young man who had helped prepare the report was incensed about the loss of technological intellectual property to China. Billions of dollars had been forfeited by private companies that were keen to do business with the emerging power. A market of more than one billion people was tempting.

  Yet each company knew the price it would have to pay, compelled to relinquish some of its technological advances and allow China to steal its research and development. For years the US had turned a blind eye in the belief that, since the fall of Mao Zedong and the market opening fostered by Deng Xiao Ping, China would eventually embrace the world of free trade to become a strong economic partner. What was a little R&D thieving amongst friends?

  Except that China had not seen it that way, or at least not according to the report. Jack read the chapter devoted to the illicit transfer of technology and sat back, coffee in hand. He had heard some of his colleagues lament the lack of influence the military had over the private sector. The schism had occurred a while ago. The intellectual property in the technology the military needed to maintain its advantage over other competitors, no longer belonged to the military. The CEOs of these firms did not report to the army chief but to boards of directors concerned with the returns to company shareholders and not with the might of the US army.