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

worked for. It would be a good start and she could investigate it on her own. Pole might not approve, but she wouldn’t ask his permission.

“Oi … blimey … careful, where you’re going!” the cabbie shouted, opening the window to give the other driver a piece of his mind. The traffic had now come to a standstill and cars were jostling, trying to move from two lanes into one.

“What happened?”

“Road works, luv … bloody idiots are opening up the road again.”

Nancy decided to walk the rest of the way. She paid the driver and stepped out onto the riverside pavement. The Thames looked a little choppy as the wind had risen and the tide was coming in. A couple of small barges were cutting steadily through the water, the engines giving them an advantage against the flow. Nancy accelerated her pace as the wind became stronger and her coat failed to keep her warm.

She stopped at a set of traffic lights. The pavement ahead had been closed to pedestrians in readiness for more repair works. She needed to cross, however, and then resume her walk alongside Whitehall Gardens.

Nancy jogged lightly on the spot, waiting for the light to go green. A gust of wind pushed against her and she cursed. A car had stopped in the middle of the pedestrian crossing, preventing other vehicles from moving forward. Nancy stepped into the road to slip between two cars.

The roar of a motorbike startles her. She has almost reached the other side of the road when it drives towards her. She throws herself on the pavement and manages to roll onto her side, hiding behind the protective railings.

The bike mounts the curb and the driver moves sideways, bending forward to grab Nancy’s satchel. She throws herself over it but she’s not quite quick enough. She clutches the handle while the biker gets hold of the long strap. He changes tack, lets go of the piece of leather and tries to run the bike into her body.

She rolls over again onto her other side, finding protection behind a metal post box. She holds the satchel against her chest with fierce determination. He tries again to grab the handle but it snaps in his hand as Nancy pulls it towards her.

The satchel bounces against the railing and lands on the other side of the pavement. Now the biker will have to run her over to get to it. There is a moment of hesitation. A couple of people are yelling. Footsteps hit the road. The bike turns around and disappears.

A woman was kneeling next to Nancy. A man was on his mobile. Nancy had just started to feel pain. Her knees were showing through her torn trousers. The cuts on her hands had started to bleed. She was sitting on the ground, still dazed after the attack.

A police car arrived. A young man in uniform crouched next to her to ask her questions, her name, how she felt … a paramedic was coming. The only thing Nancy could think about was her satchel.

She answered his questions in monosyllables … yes … no. The paramedic arrived on his motorbike and checked for broken bones. The young policeman asked her whether there was someone he should contact.

She asked for a phone and tried Pole again. His phone was now engaged. She called another number. A voice she did not recognise picked up.

“May I leave a message for Inspector Pole please?” She gave her name and asked to be called back.

The young policeman looked at her a little shocked. “Have you just called Scotland Yard?”

Nancy nodded. “And would you mind giving me a lift there please?”

They left the scene, lights flashing.

Chapter Fifteen

“Langley confirmed it’s a holiday.” Jethro Greeney was sitting behind his desk, a pair of half-moon glasses perched on his nose, re-reading the email he had received.

“I haven’t been to London for a while.”

Jethro looked at Jack over the top of his glasses. His faded blue eyes glided over him with irritation. Who did he think he was?

“And it has nothing to do with the Ollie Wilson case, of course?”

Jack didn’t budge from the comfort of the leather seat he had chosen when he entered the Chief of Station’s office. “I’m meeting up with a few friends … people I spent time with in Iraq when I started the job.”

Jethro stood up, moved around his large office desk in a leisurely manner, and joined Jack in the corner of his office which had been set up for more informal meetings.

“Your little trip to East London tech city is also completely fortuitous?”

“I’m not going to lie about that … I’m intrigued by the thought of the British trying to compete with the Americans when it comes to biotech.” Jack gave a smug smile. Jethro might buy the argument that the Americans were the best in technology and always would be.

“You’d be surprised … London has become without doubt the largest hub for biotech companies in Europe. With a lot of competition from Oxford and Cambridge.”

So much for the Chief’s perceived narrowmindedness. “I’m interested myself in what’s happening in the biotech industry in this country, so if you happen to be in the area of Old Street roundabout … a place that is well known for traffic jams, its derelict central reservation and post war hastily built constructions, you should definitely pay a visit to some of the firms based there.”

“I’ve never visited the East End as such … I gather that some of those areas are all very hip now.”

“Ask Libby to give you details about the guided tour … I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”

“What would I be looking for if I were to take a look at this famous roundabout?”

Jethro stretched his legs, sliding his heels over the thick rug.

“How about delving a little bit more into a company that specialises in virology?”

“Like the one Ollie Wilson is working for?” Jack had picked up a Viro-Tech Therapeutics brochure on the Internet