BLOOD DRAGON

by Freddie P Peters

  Could his boss in fact be waiting for his call though? Jack hesitated and pressed the call button. Hunter III was indeed waiting for him.

  “Where are you?”

  “Just landed in Hong Kong, Sir.” Jack was in the queue for passport control. The line was moving swiftly.

  “Call me when you’ve gone through immigration.” How did he know?

  “You’re going straight to the consulate. I want a call with you from a secure line.” The phone went dead. Jack barely had time to press the recall button after walking through customs. He pursed his lips … certainly he would be going to the consulate, but not before he had followed Ms Wu and secured a room in the same hotel.

  Waiting at the conveyor belt, Nancy’s suitcase came up almost first. Jack cursed as she would be gone within seconds. He was in luck and his case was spewed out by the system just as Nancy had loaded hers onto a trolley.

  It was easy to follow her to the taxi rank. There was nothing curious about that. They had made eye contact, but why wouldn’t a business class passenger find himself in the same five-star hotel … he hoped it was a decent place she had chosen for her trip.

  Nancy’s choice did not disappoint him. The Mandarin Oriental had been rated the best Hong Kong hotel for the past twenty years and none of its competitors had managed to shift it from the top spot.

  The receptionist did not bat an eyelid when Jack arrived without a reservation. She found a couple of options. The suite he was first offered was ridiculously expensive, but the deluxe bedroom, overlooking the Peak rather than Victoria Bay, suited him fine.

  Jack dumped his suitcase in his room and jumped into another cab, direction – the US Consulate General. The taxi driver shrugged. It was hardly any distance he said. Jack took out a $20 bill from his wallet and the driver made his way swiftly through traffic.

  Within minutes of having arrived at the consulate Jack was being ushered into one of the basement rooms. A polite Asian woman had lead him to it without any explanation. There was a table, a couple of chairs and several phones and computers. Clocks on the wall indicated the time in New York, Hong Kong and London.

  “Jack Shield.” A voice boomed from behind him. The man was tall and stocky. He threw a large hand in Jack’s direction. “Adrian Wong … Bob tells me he needs a chat with you on a secure line … always happy to oblige.”

  Adrian didn’t seem to have been told what it was about. He might not even care, as long as it was not him at the receiving end of Hunter III.

  The phone rang only once. “Where have you been?” was the only preamble to the conversation.

  “There was a lot of traffic.”

  Hunter grunted.

  “What have you got yourself involved with? And I don’t want some bull about a case of mistaken identity or some pissed off agent resurfacing from the past.”

  Jack considered his options. Telling the truth, at least a simplified version of it, might work. He spoke about Ollie, his suspicions and the two attempts on his own life.

  “The problem is, Jack, that Viro-Tech’s CEO Jared Turner is a no-go area.”

  “Why would that be, Sir?”

  “Let’s say he is central to some delicate negotiations … and the US government has given those negotiations top priority.”

  “What if he is abusing his position?”

  Hunter considered his answer for a moment.

  “It would have to be a pretty sizable breach …”

  “What if it threatens national security, and involves a large foreign power? And how about attempted murder?”

  Hunter was almost thrown by the comment.

  “You have 48 hours, after that I want you back home. Otherwise, your next mission will be to a desert island in the middle of the Pacific.”

  * * *

  The alarm rang a long time. Pole had woken up at 4am, just as Nancy’s flight was touching down in Hong Kong. He had pretended he could go back to sleep but simply drifted in and out unsuccessfully.

  A text pinged on his new burner phone. “Settled at the Mandarin Oriental in a room overlooking the Bay. Tout va bien.”

  She was eight hours away, in a country with which he had few connections. Pole threw off the duvet but didn’t get up. The long list of to do’s had started to churn in his mind, but he was most preoccupied with the way Ferguson and Marsh were going to react. How far would Ferguson go? Marsh was more of a containable problem … for once his soft spot for Nancy might stop him becoming more than an irritant.

  Pole shivered. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. He left it there for a short moment, then grabbed his new burner phone and typed a response. “Glad all well. Call me if you need anything, anytime.”

  He had once resented owning a mobile phone, but here he was juggling his professional mobile and two burner phones … ironic.

  Pole threw his rucksack underneath his desk, grabbed a pile of documents relating to a case he had just closed successfully. He added them to an already dangerously high stack of papers on the table next to his desk. He poured a cup of tea and started munching on his brown toast with Marmite. He retrieved the Ollie Wilson documents from beneath his desk, not certain how they had got there.

  The research papers Ollie had written were clear and made grim reading. He feared the risk of antibiotics no longer working to combat a list of known bacteria, was not just a problem of the future. It was happening now, and it was imminent. The pharmaceutical companies had simply not spent enough money on that type of research.

  It did not yield enough income in comparison to the highly lucrative research on drugs for cancer or other diseases. As long as the old antibiotics that had been developed in the 1950s still worked, why bother? These were now produced in China or India in order to further reduce costs and increase profits, from what had for many years been a cash cow.

  Ollie’s second research paper was of a very different kind, but equally chilling. He had investigated how the constant human interventions in nature, displacing animals’ natural habitat, would trigger more occurrences of animal to human transmitted diseases.

  He quoted Ebola and the avian flu that spread in Hong Kong in 2003. In the first case it was bat to human transmission, in the second, a chicken to human propagation had been the trigger point. Viruses managed to adapt. He feared some of them would mutate and develop into deadly diseases transmitted to humans, and become unstoppable.

  Ollie had included in the set of documents a paper written by a research company specialising in biological and medical topics. The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation had requested a paper on the threat of epidemics. The document had aimed to gather sufficient evidence to show how quickly an epidemic of a viral nature could spread from one country to reach the entire globe … a pandemic was due in the next 10 to 20 years.

  Pole wondered how Ollie had managed to obtain the information for the paper. It looked tailored to fit the Gates Foundation request. Perhaps he had used the advantage of being a member of the Harvard Medical School Alumni group. It opened doors and allowed access to information that few other people would be able to obtain.

  Another study looked at the increased transfer of manufacturing power from the US and Europe to China and India. It covered a small number of industries but included pharmaceutical companies. The production of drugs and medical equipment had been moving steadily to these two countries over the previous 10 years. The scale of the migration was astonishing, ranging from simple painkillers to start with, to the full range of antibiotics more recently. China produced 90% of the penicillin-based antibiotics consumed by America. Key medical equipment was also on the list.

  Pole noted the alarm in the tone of the papers. Ollie had attempted to raise issues concerning the location of pharmaceutical production, as well as to highlight neglected areas of research.

  Pole’s convers
ation with Harris was taking on another dimension. The Viro-Tech CEO’s regular visits to China had worried the young man. Pole was certain he had been a long away from finding out what the company was up to … but perhaps Ollie had discovered enough evidence to unsettle Jared Turner’s plans.

  A formal visit to Viro-Tech might rattle Turner further and give Pole an edge.

  More people had arrived in the office. Andy had appeared at his computer … Danish pastry in his mouth, balancing coffee, documents and rucksack … looking somewhat of a mess. But he was a brilliant mess and Pole could always count on his DS to come up with the goods.

  Pole’s attention returned to the papers on his desk. He wished he could have discussed them with Nancy. Her precipitous departure still bothered him. He would decide later whether to send the documents to her. His decision about Marsh was more clear cut. Marsh would not resist another high-profile case brought in by Pole … a China conspiracy of international dimensions. It was time Pole played his joker.

  * * *

  “Breathtaking.” Nancy stood at the large floor-length window that took up a whole wall of her room. She had requested a room with a view on one of the upper floors. She got exactly that.

  She had been worried as she entered the limo that the hotel had sent for her. The past could spring back from nowhere. Hong Kong had never been a destination of choice for her, but the new airport, built on land reclaimed from the sea, with its futuristic structure and high-end shops, had made the arrival almost pleasant.

  She was a world away from Big Wave Bay.

  She was in her comfort zone, surrounded by an environment that looked business-like and luxurious. Identical to the surroundings she had been used to frequenting when instructed by corporate clients.

  Nancy checked her watch. It was almost 6.30pm. She had just enough time to take a quick shower, change into a lighter dress and make her way to the Hong Kong Academy for Performing Arts. Professor Emmanuel Licot was giving a lecture on contemporary art and performance. The panel discussion would be followed by drinks. Nancy had sent a text to Philippe about the conference and he had in turn secured two tickets to the lecture.

  Shortly before 7pm, Nancy walked from the taxi she had hired for the short journey. She stepped into the building, asked for the ticket Philippe had left for her at reception and walked into a foyer where the audience were starting to pour out from the lecture theatre. She wove her way through the crowd and finally spotted Philippe.

  He looked tired and on edge. Philippe usually managed to strike up a conversation with complete strangers but today he was standing alone. Nancy made her way over to him. His face lit up as soon as he saw her and he looked relieved.

  “I’m so glad to see you.” He bent down to kiss her cheek.

  She squeezed his shoulder. “And I you …”

  She steered him towards a quieter place. “How have you been?”

  “I won’t lie to you, terrible. Can’t sleep. Can’t rest. The Hong Kong police have been a wall of silence.” He stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. I know you’re here to speak to Professor Licot.”

  “Don’t apologise. I’m here to help you too.” A cloud passed over her face and they remained silent for a moment. She hadn’t forgotten the reason why Philippe had left London in a hurry before her.

  “Licot has just arrived.” Philippe gave a small nod in his direction.

  Nancy had only seen a picture that she thought would be out of date. She would not have recognised him now … a long and thin face, surrounded by thick white hair cut in a Beatles like bob.

  As he walked into the foyer, Licot was mobbed by a crowd of young men and women seeking his attention. He was the star of the event. His writings about the connections between modern and traditional art had propelled him to the pinnacle of academia.

  Nancy grabbed a couple of glasses of what she hoped might be decent champagne. She handed one to Philippe and made her way towards Licot.

  Her assurance and seniority over the young people surrounding the professor did the trick. Unlike their counterparts in Europe, who would have ignored her, the Hong Kong students made way for her to move closer.

  When the moment felt appropriate, she extended her elegant hand.

  “Nancy Wu, delighted to make your acquaintance Professor Licot. Enchantée de faire votre connaisssance.”

  Licot did not recognise her, why should he, but her perfect French caught Licot’s attention. All smiles, he extended a friendly hand towards her. “Le plaisir est pour moi.” He shook her hand with a surprisingly firm grip.

  “Would you have a moment for us , please? This is my colleague, Philippe.”

  Philippe had just arrived at Nancy’s side. He did his best to appear keen and interested.

  “Absolutely.” Licot moved away from the crowd still gathered around him, towards one of the large sliding glass doors that had been kept shut. He slid it open with ease and walked with his two guests onto a spacious terrace overlooking the gardens.

  “We’ve been lucky. The weather has been the warmest I’ve ever known it to be since coming to Hong Kong for the winter.”

  “It’s a magnificent building.”

  “And despite the academy’s traditional background, the Dean always welcomes different perspectives about the arts.”

  “A different perspective …” Nancy echoed him. “That is precisely what I’m interested in.”

  Professor Licot nodded approvingly. “Contemporary is my bag, as they say, for that very reason.”

  Nancy opened a large folder and came alongside him so that they could look at its contents together.

  “Contemporary Art under Deng Xiao Ping.” Her voice sounded loud in this wide open space. “It is a piece that is exceedingly well researched you wrote about the Deng era.”

  Despite the sparse lights that peppered the terrace Nancy noticed colour rising on Licot’s face.

  “My assistant, Amy Grant, came across the paper in her research. I’d like to know whether she contacted you about it at all?” Philippe stepped closer.

  Licot cleared his throat. “It’s a very old piece. I haven’t revisited its contents for rather a long time.”

  “But it’s a piece that makes important assertions about how contemporary art had managed to grow and break free from the Chinese government’s claw. Your research must have meant you met some of the artists of that generation.”

  Licot turned towards Philippe. “I recall an Amy Grant contacting me, but unfortunately we never managed to meet.” Licot’s voice had become strained. Nancy was now turning the pages of the document, arriving at the section she wanted to read aloud.

  “To answer your own question, I met a lot of people who had moved to Hong Kong, including artists who had vowed never to go back.” Licot started moving towards the door that had been closed by Philippe. No one was coming in their direction.

  “In the paper, you mention an artist called Mo Cho. Could I please ask how you knew his work, and who had introduced you to him?” Nancy forced herself to stay calm.

  “I would have to refer to my notes.” Licot ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Is it important?”

  “It is.”

  “Why?”

  “I am his daughter.”

  Licot’s face changed in an instant. He looked into Nancy’s eyes and nodded.

  “Let me say my goodbyes and wait for me outside the main entrance, we need to talk somewhere else.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  They almost bumped into each other. Ferguson’s thundery face jotted forward. “Did you know she’d gone?”

  Pole managed to look shocked. He had expected Ferguson’s reaction barging into his office as he almost always did when arguing about a point he felt strongly about. But this time he was enraged. His lips twitched and his nostrils flared.

  “What are you tal
king about?”

  “Wu, she’s left for China.”

  “Are you sure?” Pole’s voice caught in his throat. His shocked face and look of incomprehension did not stop Ferguson.

  “Of course I’m sure. And can you tell me why she bothered to book two seats rather than one?”

  This time Pole was genuinely at a loss. “I have no idea.” He detached each word to give himself time to think.

  Ferguson pushed past Pole, the bulk of his presence sending ripples around Pole’s room. He followed Ferguson into his office and closed the door.

  “She has been trying to retrace her father’s steps before his disappearance.” That much he could divulge. Yvonne Butler was also involved and she could support him in that statement.

  “We are in the middle of a bloody internal investigation … People who are subject to that inquiry don’t up sticks without telling us.”

  “An informal investigation …” Pole moved behind his desk and leaned on the back of his chair.

  “But why not tell us? She knows the drill. And, more importantly, why not tell you?”

  Ferguson had seen how closely Nancy and Pole had worked together on the Phelps case. He was not an idiot and didn’t seem to care whether they were involved as long as they delivered the goods. Today, however, Ferguson was not prepared to turn a blind eye.

  “I don’t know, Ferg …” Pole pushed his chair away from his desk, in a sharp move. His anger was not faked. “I’ll call her as soon as we finish this conversation.”

  “Why don’t you call her now?”

  Pole’s jaw clenched. Ferguson was right, if it was a simple professional call, why not now? “You have a point.” Pole bit his tongue before he could make a comment about time difference. “What part of China is she in?”

  “Hong Kong.” Ferguson had dragged a chair right up to Pole’s desk. “She landed an hour ago.”