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

the way back. On the shop assistant’s advice, he had purchased a bottle of Portuguese red wine, Quinta Vista. He had been dubious but decided to try something different whilst in London. The wine the shopkeeper had sold him gave off an intense aroma of black and red berries, with a hint of chocolate and vanilla … whatever it was he was tasting, Jack was enjoying this latest discovery.

He had also spotted a little deli shop adjacent to the wine shop. Jack had stopped there too, showed them the bottle and ended up with a couple of cheeses … one French Brie de Meaux and a British Kidderton ash goat cheese. Jack stabbed a piece of Brie he had pre-cut on a small plate and placed it in his mouth … delicious. He took another mouthful of wine … heaven.

He was about to press a couple of keys on his laptop to check his email inbox but his eyes fell on the paragraph in the document he had been reading when Laurie called. The preliminary report delivered by Senator McCain’s senior policy advisor had started on a grim note.

But Jack took the introductory words with a pinch of salt. It was not the first time that a report sought to attract attention by announcing the doom of the US military.

Jack reread the sentence that had attracted his attention and pondered again on the definition of ‘kill chain’. It was a term that everybody in the US military used but seldom talked about in other circles, including the CIA.

On the battlefield, the kill chain is essential. It is the process by which the army command acquires an understanding of what is happening in the field, then decides what response is the most adequate, finally taking action to achieve the results it has decided upon. The name of the game, of course, is to break the kill chain of the adversary as fast and as often as possible to win the confrontation.

Although acknowledging the technical superiority of the US army and its appetite for continuing to seek technical advances, the paper argued that there were other ways war should now be envisaged. It took, as an example, recent movements seen on the frontier between the Ukraine and Russia. Something was brewing but US forces seemed equipped against an opponent like Russia that was willing to use surprising tactics.

Jack’s glass was empty. He considered whether he should indulge into another … he was on holiday after all. He refilled the glass and carried on reading, letting himself sink into the pillows that were propping up his back.

One of the report’s conclusions was clear. The US army’s technological advantage was fading fast and one reason for this was that the most important technical advances the military needed were being developed by the private sector.

These were issues that neither Russia nor China had. Both countries were quite prepared to requisition the technology they needed when they needed it, whether the owners and developers liked it or not.

Jack laid the laptop back on the bed. He folded the newspapers into a neat pile, swung his legs across the side of the bed and stood up. He was only a couple of feet away from the large window that overlooked Northumberland Avenue. The street was brightly lit and as he moved closer to the glass, he caught a glimpse of Nelson’s column illuminated.

The night sky felt low and heavy, making Trafalgar Square look bright and almost festive. Nelson’s statue bathed in a greenish light that gave him an almost fluorescent glow. Jack shook his head. He wondered what the great generals and admirals of the past would make of the way warfare was evolving.

Jack leaned for a moment against the window frame. Despite the double glazing the cold had started to creep in. He shivered and pulled the curtains halfway across, still keen to enjoy some of the view’s postcard quality.

He was about to grab his jacket and put his on shoes, to leave the room in search of a small restaurant for dinner, when he remembered Laurie’s email. He had asked for a favour and she would be expecting some feedback. He slumped back onto the bed, turned the laptop towards him and opened the message.

She had sent him the details of the security measures that had recently been added to the Viro-Tech building. It was indeed as Jack had suspected, improvements over and above what Fort Knox might have considered impregnable.

* * *

Pole’s mobile rang. He hesitated and snatched it from his jacket pocket. The name on the screen made his face drop. His eyes focused on the keypad as he pressed answer.

“Inspector Pole.” His voice was formal, ready for any news the caller might give him. He moved to the far end of the room and then disappeared into the kitchen. If he needed space, Nancy would give him that.

She had already taken the plates and cutlery out of the cupboards to lay the table for dinner. She started slowly to arrange them. Pole’s voice floated in and out of the room, in small bursts. Questions she could not understand, followed by what seemed interminable answers.

Nancy went back to the oven to check the meat. Its nutty smell made her mouth water. She hadn’t had much to eat during the day and her stomach started to complain. The salad was ready to toss. She uncorked a bottle of red wine, realising she should have let it breathe a little longer.

The sound of Pole’s voice had stopped. She wondered whether he was still in the room, waited a few moments and stuck her head through the door. Pole had dropped onto the large couch, elbows on knees and hands clenched in front of his mouth. Nancy moved to the armchair closest to him and sat down slowly. She didn’t have to ask.

“Ollie Wilson will not wake up.” Pole had spoken in the neutral tone she knew he used to hide the sorrow he felt at