BLOOD DRAGON Freddie Peters (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📖

…” Pole did not have time to finish his sentence. An alarm sounded on one of the monitors. The paramedic pushed Pole away firmly, his colleague slashed open Ollie’s T-shirt with one cut. The door closed and the ambulance lurched forward, siren screeching.

Pole stood … stomach clenched. The smell of heroin still floated around him.

* * *

“Drug overdose … My chap on the ground says it’s heroin.”

“You mean he has been injected by force and has OD’d on it.”

“I don’t know the details. Scotland Yard and the NCA are involved so I’m not sure we want to be that visible.”

Jack stopped typing. Jethro awaited his reply. As far as he was concerned, he had done his best to find out what happened to Ollie Wilson.

“Why Scotland Yard and why the NCA?”

“Ollie’s girlfriend seems to have the right connections and she reported his kidnapping.”

“It could still be a kidnapping that went wrong.”

“Look … That’s up to the police to determine. And if it is really serious, it will be up to the FBI to get involved. Maybe this kid got involved in some shady drug deal or borrowed money from the wrong people.”

“The people who picked him up at his flat were pros … So not convinced.”

“And the mafia uses pros when it comes to settling scores.” Jethro’s voice had lost interest in the conversation.

“Any idea who the pros were?” Jack thought it was a longshot, but the London Station Chief for the CIA might know.

“We didn’t get anything that helped ID them.”

And there would be no attempt to do so. Jack continued typing his notes in frustration.

“Anything new … let me know.”

Jack stood up, put on this jacket. He walked out of the CIA head office building and ran across the open stretch of road that separated it from the cafeteria. The restaurant never closed. It catered at any time of the day or night for the agents and support staff that made Langley a centre of excellence.

A few people were there. Nobody he knew though. Just as well, Jack did not fancy an idle chit chat with anyone.

Jack ordered pancakes with maple syrup a cup of black coffee.

He picked his tray and found a spot near the window. The cafeteria was a large open plan room devoid of small corners in which to hide or eavesdrop. February’s cold was seeping through the glass, but Jack did not mind. It would only take a few more mouthfuls of food before he returned to investigating Ollie Wilson.

Jack had to admit that so far there was very little evidence of a Chinese presence in what had happened to him. Jethro was right. The kidnapping could be anything … drugs, ransom, dirty money.

Yet the CIA profile of Ollie Wilson had not turned up anything suspicious … a little pot smoking at college, but no dealing. The information from his university was still pending.

The hunch that Jack had was based more on Ollie’s Uni background. His Bioinformatics and Integrative Genomics or BIG residency at Harvard Medical School made him part of an elite group of young men who would design the future. He sounded articulate when they spoke on the phone. He wanted to be sure before presenting his case to the CIA … There was no desire to impress, simply a genuine concern to share accurate information.

Jack pushed his half-finished plate away to concentrate on his coffee … the first of many.

Why could he not let go?

Experience?

The desire to see his theory about biohazards and the control of technological transfers in the field of pharmaceutical development vindicated?

Above all the need to see what he had started through to the bitter end.

Jack sipped at his coffee and took out his mobile. His thumb hesitated. It fell swiftly over a name in his contact list … time to make a London call …

* * *

The silhouette stood on the long landing, neither rushing in nor walking away. Cora climbed down from her perch in haste. She landed softly amongst the burnt wreckage and moved to the door.

“Who are you?” Nancy looked around for some form of weapon.

The helmet was still on with no indication it was about to come off.

Nancy picked up a piece of charred wood, once part of the coffee table. Cora moved next to her in full view, ready to make a stand.

The visor flipped open in one quick flick, “Cora?”

“Nat …?” Cora started to pick her way across the floor, choosing her footing with care to avoid the glass. The other woman came forward and squeezed Cora in a light embrace. The helmet came off, dropped to the floor freeing up a mass of blonde curls. “I’m so, so sorry … I’ve just been speaking to Beth.” She squeezed Cora harder. Tears welled up in Cora’s eyes. Her nose started running and she wiped it on the sleeve of Nancy’s elegant sweater.

“It’s really, really, bad … We’ve just arrived to see what’s happened to the place.” Cora bit her lower lip. “And also … Ollie.” But she couldn’t carry on.

Nancy stepped in, offering a friendly hand to Cora’s friend Natalie. “I’m Nancy … a friend.”

Cora apologised. “Sorry Nancy, I should have …”

“Not to worry.” Nancy interrupted. “What matters is that we are amongst friends.”

Someone else was climbing the stairs in a hurry. The man arrived at the top of the stairwell and this time there was no doubt in Nancy’s mind.

“You should have waited for me.”

“And what took you so long?” Nancy shot back. The police protection officer was right of course, but she was not in the mood spare his feelings.

“Traffic was murder.”

“Even with a siren and flashing lights?”

“Not supposed to use them unless it’s a code red.”

Nancy focused on the new arrival. Male, white, a nascent beer gut and more hair on his badly shaven chin than on his head, and yet, sharp brown eyes that noticed everything.

Nancy breezed in. “Welcome anyway … I’m Nancy.” She extended her hand in the direction of the others. “Cora and Nat.”

“Michael Branning.”

Awkwardness