BLOOD DRAGON

by Freddie P Peters

  “Did someone come and pick up the documents once you told Branning?”

  “Within 15 minutes of me calling. A police car was sent by Inspector Pole. They must be with him by now.”

  Nancy replaced the documents in the envelope and slipped it into the satchel that had almost cost her a stay in hospital. She patted it with affection. The strap had been torn during the incident, so she was now just using the handle. It was as hardy and resilient as its owner.

  “I have an appointment at Scotland Yard soon … I’ll let you know what I find out about that Chinese research institution.”

  Cora gave a small exhale. “I hope you won’t mind me coming back to this …” Her eyes searched Nancy’s face for a short moment. “But I believe in Ollie’s innocence … I mean, I believe he was clean.”

  Nancy squeezed her hand. “I know you do … and I intend to find out the truth about what happened. I promise.”

  * * *

  The persistent ring of his landline, and the knock of his DS on his door, gave Pole the breathing space he needed. He apologised to an increasingly irritated Ferguson.

  “I need to take this.” Pole didn’t wait for an answer. “DS Branning.”

  Branning updated his boss and was given swift instructions about collecting the evidence and taking statements from whomever had been in contact with the envelope.

  Ferguson grumbled his goodbyes in the middle of this activity, firing a resentful look at Pole. “We need to clear this up, Pole. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  Pole nodded and waved Andy in. He had called Yvonne to tell her the new piece of evidence was on its way to her, but not before Pole and he had been able to take a look at it.

  “Perhaps we should take safety measures before opening the parcel?”

  “Why? Do you think there will be something dangerous in it?”

  “Ollie Wilson was targeted twice.”

  “Anything dangerous in it would already have done its damage. Unfortunately, the envelope has already been opened by Cora.”

  Andy’s eyes followed Ferguson as he left. “Bad news, Gov?”

  “Always a little tense these days when Ferguson’s around … Nothing to worry about.”

  “Yvonne is expecting the package as soon as we can deliver it to her.”

  “Anything else?” Pole’s mind was still drifting back to his conversation with his counter- terrorist colleague.

  “I’ve made progress on the account in Switzerland. It’s held by the owner of another numbered account in Malta.”

  “Malta … a known platform for East European mafia activity.”

  “Including Russians, of course.”

  “And the man on the bike?”

  “Evaporated … I don’t think I’m going to find anything.” Andy pulled a disappointed face. He had not yet admitted defeat but was edging closer to it.

  “Although …” Andy hesitated. “You’re going to think I’m a little obsessed.”

  Pole managed to smile. “Come on, tell me what crazy idea is brewing in that great mind of yours.”

  “I’m not sure it was a man.”

  “What?” Pole chuckled. “Another woman?”

  Andy raised his podgy index finger. “No Gov, the same woman who chased Cora on the canal.”

  * * *

  “Am I troubling you?” Nancy had pushed her mobile into its dashboard case.

  “Never … I’m just finishing a lengthy report and the chit chat with a friend is just what I need.” Yvonne didn’t bother to stifle a yawn.

  “I am now seeking information about a biotech organisation called the National Institute of Biological Science, they are located in Beijing.”

  “Beijing … difficult … but Hong Kong, I can do. A friend of mine worked for the Biotechnology Research Institute there. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t know a thing or two about that organisation.”

  Nancy accelerated the Aston Martin’s engine to go through an amber light. It responded with perfect obedience. No surprise that Henry had loved driving this car.

  “You will shortly receive a set of documents relevant to the Ollie Wilson case.”

  “And you’d like to know what my take is on them?”

  “If you’re offering …”

  Nancy thanked Yvonne and concentrated on the approach to Scotland Yard. Victoria Embankment was packed, and she realised too late that it was madness to take a car into central London at this time of day. She had no choice but to slow down and crawl to a standstill until she arrived at the spot where the motorbike had tried to run her over. Nancy tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She looked straight ahead. In a few seconds she would leave the place behind.

  The traffic eased off and she succeeded in brushing the memories of the encounter away.

  She finally turned into Scotland Yard’s car park. Marsh’s PA had been good enough to arrange for a space in which to park her Aston Martin Vantage. Mentioning the car’s make had also done the trick. The Super did not yet own one of these.

  A police officer in full body armour with a machine gun at his side walked towards the car, whilst his colleague stayed behind, observing.

  Nancy’s name had been added to the list of visitors. She presented her passport for the officer to scrutinise. He took his time to do so thoroughly and instructed someone in the control room to open the gates. Movable bollards started to slide into the ground to give her access, and she parked her car in the space which had been allocated. As she approached the building the heavy metal doors slid open. Ten minutes later, Nancy was walking into Superintendent Marsh’s office.

  Predictably he was standing at his favourite spot in the corner of his office. He turned around with a broad smile to welcome her.

  “Ms Wu, how good of you to make the time.”

  “Always delighted to be of assistance, Superintendent.” Nancy extended a slim hand, elegant in the black Dior suit she had chosen for the meeting. “The Ollie Wilson case deserves all our attention.”

  She walked over to the corner where she could see lunch had been laid out.

  Marsh caught up with her and courteously moved a seat for her.

  “I’m sure it does, but the reason I have asked you to meet is a little more …” Marsh sat down as she did. “… sensitive.”

  Nancy sat down, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

  “The counter-terrorist squad commander and I have decided to conduct an informal investigation into what we presume is a leak of key information in the Mark Phelps case.”

  “A leak?” Nancy’s voice managed to remain neutral. “To whom do you think the information was leaked?”

  Marsh settled, and almost hesitated. “MI6.”

  “Don’t the agency and the Met usually work together?”

  “It is sometimes a little more complex …”

  “Then I assume you have made a list of all the people who were involved in the case and I am one of them … hence the meeting.”

  Marsh’s body jotted forward. “I would not want to imply we are in any doubt about your integrity.”

  Nancy gave him an affable smile. “But you need to do the right thing, Superintendent Marsh … I would not want to be treated in any other way.”

  The Super looked much relieved, extending a hand towards a brewing pot. “Of course, every person who has been involved in the case will be questioned … tea?”

  Nancy managed an agreeable nod.

  She now knew the trouble Pole was in.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The tedious lunch meeting with Marsh had yielded results. Nancy had patiently answered all his questions. Despite his arrogance, the Super was not a stupid man … The combination of intellect and ambition was a potent and dangerous one. There was a rationale behind the diligent interrogation … Timeline, contacts with the victi
m and the SFO prosecutor, contacts with Pole. Whether Marsh was aware of their relationship, he didn’t say.

  Marsh seemed to be content with her answers. It was time for Nancy to turn the tables a little.

  A fresh pot of tea had arrived, with a clean set of cups. He poured without asking. Nancy smiled encouragingly, eyes focused. “Commander Ferguson is a very thorough officer. It is worrying that he himself has concerns.”

  Marsh nodded whilst selecting one of the small pastries that had been brought with the tea, after offering them to Nancy.

  “Indeed, one of the most successful officers in the counter-terrorist squad … It is good that he and Inspector Pole know each other.”

  “It must certainly help when it comes to discussing difficult situations.”

  Marsh settled back into the sofa he had chosen to sit on. He chewed thoughtfully on the chocolate brownie he had just put into his mouth, an expression of pleasure on his face. “It helped contain the burner phone issue … the calls made in and around Scotland Yard.”

  “And I’m sure Inspector Pole came up with a plausible answer about its presence.”

  Marsh raised his eyes from his plate, as Nancy looked down at her own. “Not as convincing as we had hoped.”

  “How unfortunate … but sometimes the explanation can be … complex.”

  “In this instance, though, there is nothing complex about the questionable locations of the burner phone.” Marsh gave Nancy a condescending smile. Pole had not come up with any plausible explanation.

  “But I presume Commander Ferguson has found a possible explanation?” Nancy forced herself to nibble at the madeleine she had chosen.

  “A hypothesis …” Marsh’s rapacious finger hovered over the table and then chose a new victim in the form of a chocolate eclair.

  “May I be frank with you, Superintendent?”

  “You needn’t ask.” Marsh gave Nancy a surprised look.

  “Would I be right in thinking that the phone was detected close to my home? It would explain the in-depth questioning.” Nancy’s face remained smooth … a single question coming from a consummate criminal QC.

  “An excellent question, of course, that might have to remain unanswered for the time being.” Marsh was enjoying the forwardness of the question.

  Nancy noted the compliment, her fist clenched over her napkin. She had her own theory about who owned the mobile and there was no time to lose.

  * * *

  “Let’s cross the river.” Harris slapped Jack on the shoulder.

  Jack winced as he got up and Harris shook his head.

  “Man, you’ve got through quite a few tight spots unscathed, and now you come all the way to London to get beaten to a pulp.”

  “Don’t rub it in, Steve,” Jack grumbled through his swollen lips.

  Despite the sun that made the River Thames look almost inviting, a cold wind was pushing against them as they crossed Vauxhall Bridge. Harris raised the collar of his short winter coat and drew his neck into his shoulders. Jack wrapped his scarf over his face, the icy gusts cut into his wounds and made every step a struggle.

  They crossed the road as they arrived on the other side of the bridge and turned left.

  “Just a few yards and we are there.”

  “Another of your favourite pubs?”

  “Not this time … a bit of culture my dear fellow, yerse … a bit of culture.” Harris’s imitation of the English upper class accent always made Jack laugh. He put a hand to his face. “Don’t, I can just about talk, let alone laugh.”

  “I know …” Harris chuckled.

  They stayed silent for the rest of the journey until they arrived at Tate Britain. Jack looked up at the neo-classical entrance and stalled.

  “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for a gallery tour.”

  “Neither am I, but the restaurant is excellent and it won’t be full of other eavesdropping colleagues. We’ve got a table in a little corner I usually book.”

  “Have you recently turned into an art buff?”

  “Nope, but one of my operatives is, and he likes the wine list too.”

  They settled into the comfort of the Rex Whistler restaurant. A table had been set apart from the others, it seemed, for the purpose of accommodating guests who required a little privacy. Jack sat down and rubbed his hands together to shift the cold away. His eyes drifted over the mural that spread around the walls. He frowned and Harris noticed his surprise.

  “I know … not at all politically correct painting. It’s called the Expedition in Pursuit of Rare Meats, and was painted in 1927 … according to my guy.”

  “Was the British Empire not on a steep decline by then?”

  “10 out of 10 mate. Yes, it was.”

  “How can they keep that on the wall then?”

  “I suppose it’s a part of history and British heritage … Tate seems to remain silent on the point though …”

  The menus arrived, they ordered, and waited to talk business until the food arrived.

  “News on your side?” Harris tucked into his shellfish ravioli.

  “How much is the UK government monitoring biotechnology for IP theft?”

  “A question answered by a question is disconcerting.” Harris took another mouthful.

  “Agreed … but I’m trying to assess where this Ollie Wilson story is going.”

  “You mean, how much you can disclose to me without compromising another CIA project.” Harris squinted. “No hard feelings, I would do the same if I were in your shoes.”

  “And what is your answer?” Jack gingerly took a sip of his smoked haddock soup.

  “There is something brewing on that front. I’ve been assigned to a new MI6 project involving the Far East.”

  “And would you say the UK has extended its field of interest to the Far East .”

  “A good way of putting it. The UK has realised that for about twenty years we’ve been obsessed with the Middle East and that we need to focus our attention further afield.”

  “The US is doing exactly that, and I can’t imagine it’s a coincidence. China and North Korea are at the top of the list.”

  “Hong Kong is also a priority for the UK. The Chinese government has tried a few times to tighten up the regime around that enclave’s attempt at democracy … so far Hong Kong has resisted, but it can’t last forever.”

  Jack drank a little more of his soup, deciding how much more he was prepared to tell Harris about the McCain report.

  “Do you see a large divergence between the UK military and the private sector in your country?”

  It was a curve ball Harris had not expected. He put down his fork to concentrate better on working out the answer he was prepared to give.

  “Yes … in short.” Harris’ fingertips rested on the edge of the table, as if holding it for balance. “And with it the lack of control of what technology goes where.”

  “It’s happening on a large scale in the US.” Jack stopped eating as well. “And I’m sure you can guess where the technology goes.”

  “China.” It was not a guess but a statement of fact.

  “Which is the reason why I’m increasingly interested in Viro-Tech Therapeutics.”

  “But it’s one of many companies working in the field.” Harris drank a little white burgundy and resumed his eating.

  “Ollie Wilson saw something important. I’m not sure what it is that he found, but it must be worth finding out.”

  “I’ll see what I can learn from my sources.”

  Jack nodded, resuming his eating. “Have you been able to find out more about Ms Wu?” he managed between two bites.

  Harris lifted his eyes and met Jack’s for a moment. “Will you believe me if I say you are looking at the wrong person?”

  “I’m going to need a little more than that to be con
vinced.”

  Harris took another sip of the excellent wine, undecided.

  “She was close to a person of interest, so we carried out an in-depth check.”

  “You mean the IRA banker, Henry Crowne.”

  A faint smile brushed Harris’s lip. “The very same.”

  “How about her communist father?”

  “Her Chinese father disappeared 30 years ago, and she has not been back to mainland China since she was a child.”

  “Yet she’s looking into that story again, as well as the Ollie Wilson case.”

  Harris looked surprised.

  “If you didn’t know that, perhaps you should revise your views about her.”

  “How much of an interest is she taking in the Wilson case, then?”

  “Between inquiring about what happened to him, getting a friend to contact your agency and visiting Viro-Tech Therapeutics. I’d say she’s getting pretty proactive.”

  “Point taken. Though of course Ms Wu may simply want to know a little more about her ancestry … or what happened to her father … that does not make her a Chinese agent.”

  “But she has a perfect background … people take years before they decide on their true allegiance.”

  Harris purses his lips. “That’s very true, but so far we have found nothing.” A phone was buzzing. Harris took out of his pocket one of his burner phones and stood up. “I have to take this call.”

  “Your source?” Jack took a sip of the burgundy.

  Harris maintained a poker face and left the table to take the call outside. The answer Jack was looking for was tantalisingly close.

  * * *

  The cold wind blew a strand of hair across her face. Nancy pushed it back into the clip, her fingers fiddling to find a way to make it stay there. She stood outside Scotland Yard, underneath the iconic triangular logo. There were too many moving parts she needed to consider before attempting to build a coherent picture, and it was too early to speak to Pole.

  She secured her yellow pashmina around her neck, fastened the belt of her black and white chequered Chanel woollen coat and started walking.