BLOOD DRAGON Page 4

  She is barely 16 years of age. It is her first march with the people of Hong Kong to demand democracy. She loves being part of such a massive movement. The organisers themselves have not anticipated the size of the turnout. Her parents are marching too, although Cora is sticking with her college friends. She is not staying with mum and dad. She disappears into the mass of protesters and loses them from sight. She’s a grown-up who can chart her own path.

  Cora sighed.

  She slumped back onto the bed. She needed a new phone. She needed to get back to Hoxton. She needed to find Ollie.

  She rolled onto her side, grabbed the pair of socks Nancy had lent her. The old trainers were a little tight but they would do.

  She walked out of the bedroom and called Nancy’s name. Her friend was on the phone, talking to Jonathan no doubt. Nancy finished her conversation.

  “We’ll have someone with us in the next couple of hours. We can then go back to the flat and have a proper look at it.”

  Cora nodded … but two hours sounded like an eternity.

  “How about we go to buy a phone in the meantime?”

  Nancy squinted but after a short moment relented. “We buy the phone and then come back straight away.”

  Cora gave a big smile … butter would have melted …

  * * *

  The young man in the shop was all smiles. He expressed a suitable amount of concern when Cora explained she had lost her phone in a fire.

  “Really tragic … but as long as no one is hurt.” Cora’s face remained impassive. She just wanted the phone not some fake sympathy.

  He downloaded the data saved under her mobile number and made sure it had all transferred smoothly. Texts would, unfortunately, be lost. She wouldn’t be able to tell whether Ollie had tried to contact her that way.

  Nancy presented her credit card. Cora thanked her and disappeared outside to find a secluded corner to place her phone call.

  Ollie’s phone rang and went to voicemail. His soft American accent cheerful greeting unexpectedly hit her. She pressed the phone against her lips to muffle a small cry.

  She turned around. Nancy was still in the shop waiting for her receipt.

  The pedestrian crossing light was green, it disappeared, and the countdown started 8-7-6-5 …

  Cora ran across the road and disappeared into the backstreets of Islington.

  She ran all the way down to the canal that led from Islington to the River Thames. Her foot hurt but she ignored the pain. She found the stairs to the canal footpath, climbing down two at a time and almost slipped halfway. She stopped for a short moment. This was stupid, she knew, but she was not going back.

  Cora started her journey again. She was alone. The bank of the Regents Canal was deserted. With no money in her pocket, she could not hope to catch a cab or a bus if she left the canal further along.

  The buildings along the towpath had been renovated and cleaned of graffiti. She recalled taking a similar walk with her parents. She was perhaps ten. Most buildings were derelict and she had squeezed her mother’s hand hard. Her father had not been impressed with his wife’s choice of setting for a family stroll, but she had convinced him that the artist they were going to visit was worth the extra effort.

  “And anyway, it is broad daylight … It is unlikely we are going to be mugged.”

  “Unlikely” had not somehow satisfied her husband but it all changed when they arrived in the studio of Yinka Shonibare.

  The explosion of colours, the richness of the African fabrics he used for his sculptures stunned them. The young man in his wheelchair had welcomed them with warmth and courtesy. He had showed them around the latest creations arranged on three mannequins … period costumes in batik fabrics.

  Cora had wanted to touch the material for it looked so beautiful. The artist had given her a couple of samples, leftovers from cutting out the garments. She had folded them neatly and kept them in her tiny rucksack for the rest of the trip. They must still be in Hong Kong she thought, pressed into her first diary. Inspired by the visit, she had immediately started to record the art she found so fascinating.

  The towpath narrowed as she arrived at a bridge junction. Something distracted her from the memories of her parents. She felt a light pounding underneath her feet. The sound was muffled and yet distinct.

  Its rhythm became more certain and the noise louder. Someone was running along the canal bank in her direction. She looked around … there was no escape. She couldn’t go back and the next set of steps ahead of her was at least half a mile away.

  She started running. Her injured foot pleaded for her to stop but she pushed against the pain. The cold air had started burning her lungs as she accelerated the pace.

  “Hey … hang on …” she shouted at the top of her voice. Her eyes were watering as the icy wind slapped her face. “Wait … please …”

  She waved her arms, and the narrow boat handler raised his head. One of the small boats had left its mooring near Wharf Road, entered one of the locks and was about to be on its way.

  The man turned around to check who was calling. He was wearing a thick anorak, a woolly hat that had seen better days and his dark stubble gave his face a rough unfriendly look.

  But he smiled and shouted back. “Need a ride?”

  Cora reached the lock gate and stepped onto it. The man moved to the front of the boat, offered a hand and she jumped onto the wooden deck.

  “Welcome to the Perfect Dreamer …”

  “That’s very kind.” Cora managed to smile.

  “There’s coffee downstairs … bring a couple of cups to the deck, will you? … It’ll be two sugars and lots of milk for me.”

  She nodded, unfazed by the familiarity of the boat owner. The community of people who lived on narrow boats was carefree and welcoming. She had enjoyed taking pictures of buildings, waterways and structures she had encountered from their decks many times, and enjoyed their travellers’ stories.

  Cora moved towards the rear of the boat. The jogger she had heard had almost reached the lock too. If he accelerated the pace, he might be able to board the small boat whether its owner obliged or not … and what if he had a gun?

  She looked back. The woman at the helm had not moved from her position. She nodded to Cora. “Go on … don’t be shy … get yourself and his Lordship a coffee.” She eased the boat into the next leg of the Regents Canal as the pursuer reached the back gates.

  He had slowed down, the grey hoodie covering his face revealing nothing of his features, but Cora was certain he was looking at her. He slowed down further to a trot, digging his hands into his sport jacket’s pockets.

  Panic seized Cora. He was about to shoot her and the two people who had kindly offered her a lift. One hand retrieved an object from his pocket. A large mobile phone appeared and he started taking pictures.

  The lock … the boat … Cora … this was intimidation.

  Cora’s mouth ran dry and the tightening in her chest no longer caused by the running.

  “Happens all the time.” The woman at the helm of the narrow boat nodded. “People can’t believe we can live a good life on such a small boat.”

  Cora ignored the woman for a moment. She was not going to be intimidated if this was the game these people were playing.

  “I have got a mobile too,” she muttered.

  She took her newly acquired phone out of the pocket of the bomber jacket Nancy had lent her and aimed at the man. He had not expected this. Cora kept pressing the button. The jogger hesitated, turning back would give him away, walking further along the canal would give Cora plenty of time to take more photos. He stepped towards one of the small cafes alongside the towpath and disappeared into it without looking back.

  Cora took a few pictures of the boat and its owners. She too did not want to give herself away. She disappeared below deck and returned wi
th three mugs. The pursuer had not reappeared. She settled in the bow of the barge and pulled her mobile out again. It was time to make a much-needed phone call to apologise.

  Chapter Four

  “I’m in a cab … On my way to her loft.” Nancy was on a call to Pole, cursing herself for not having seen this coming.

  She frowned. “I know, Jonathan … I’m not going to barge into a half-burnt building. I’ll wait for the officer you’ve assigned for her protection to arrive.”

  Pole had been fast at rerouting the officer he had requested, from Nancy’s flat to his new destination. Still, it would take a good twenty minutes before he reached Cora’s building.

  “Hang on … I have an incoming call …” The number did not correspond to a name, but she somehow hoped she knew who the caller was. “I’ll call you back shortly.”

  Cora’s voice sounded contrite but also scared.

  “I am goddam annoyed.” Nancy forced herself to sound severe. Had she been in Cora’s place she might have done just the same. Not a fact to be disclosed to her young friend though.

  “On a narrow boat?” Nancy created a map of the area she knew so well in her mind. The Regents Canal was a good alternative for Cora to reach her flat without being detected.

  How cunning.

  “I’ll be at Hoxton Docks before you are. Call me when you arrive. We’ll drive to your flat and wait in the cab until the protection officer arrives.” Nancy insisted. “Yes, we will.”

  Cora agreed without too much arguing.

  “And please send me the pictures you took of the man who followed you.”

  As soon as she received it Nancy opened the attachment. She flipped through the photos … tall, black and grey tracksuit, grey hoodie and gloves. Nancy inhaled, selected all of them, and forwarded them to Pole. There was only one word for it.

  Menace.

  The people behind all this must have found Cora after all and knew she had stayed at Nancy’s. They did not seem to be put off by the police being involved either.

  Nancy bent a little forward to check progress on the road. The cabbie had taken the backstreets, zigzagging through small lanes and a couple of nondescript estates. For a moment she had almost lost track of where she was and doubt crept in … Was he going the right way?

  They emerged near Haggerston Station and Nancy exhaled. Only a few more minutes and she would reach her destination.

  She sat back in the seat of the cab, watching the people of East London going about their morning business. The cultural and racial mix made her pay more attention. Without doubt it was the reason she had chosen to live in North London, dismissing the more select areas of South Kensington and Chelsea.

  She had been a well-respected, perhaps even brilliant Queen’s Counsel. Her legal career was studded with high profile cases, controversial and often ground-breaking. She had represented war criminals. She had represented fraudulent bankers and CEOs.

  She had done so because of the idea or perhaps even ideal she had of justice and how it should be served. Yet ambition had taken over and she had almost lost sight of what mattered … almost.

  The cabbie used his horn to warn a pedestrian on a mobile that crossing in front of his car might not be such a bright idea.

  “We’re almost there, luv … Do you want me to wait then?”

  “Please, and could you stop as close as possible to the stairs that come up from the Regents Canal?”

  “Righto …” the burly chap nodded. His broad shoulders hunched over the wheel of his vehicle, almost dwarfing the front cabin. He indicated and parked his cab where he had been asked.

  It took only a few minutes for Cora to ring back. A few more for her to emerge from the canal’s towpath and come to sit beside Nancy.

  “Sorry.” She attempted her best smile and Nancy raised a don’t-do-it-again eyebrow.

  “I’ll be very careful.”

  “Mmm … I hope so.”

  The cabbie swung his cab around in a perfect U-turn. A few minutes later he deposited them in the small courtyard that stretched in front of Cora’s building.

  The charred windows and blackened walls needed no explanation. The fire had ravaged the inside of the flat and Cora let out a sob.

  * * *

  Jack rose on his elbow and picked up his mobile. He slumped back into bed and brought the other elbow underneath his head. He listened to the long message the London Station Chief had left for him.

  They had found the girl – Cora – and were watching her.

  MI6 had been called by someone at Scotland Yard.

  “Shit. This is turning into a real cock-up.”

  Jack checked the bedside clock. 5.37am.

  The alarm would ring in less than half an hour. It was hardly worth going back to sleep. He replayed the message he had received from London and gave a short, dejected groan. Not the start of the day he had been hoping for.

  Jack grabbed an old fleece and put it on. He moved to the kitchen and started to brew fresh coffee. The laptop had been left open on the kitchen bar top. He sat on one of the bar stools and logged on. Ollie Wilson had stumbled onto something important. The question still remained, what?

  Jack spent the next ten minutes yo-yoing between the complex security vetting protocols on the laptop and a coffee machine that was not quite playing ball.

  He sat down finally with a much-needed cup of Brazilian coffee, and read the file he had been able to select once he had navigated the security checks.

  Jack had taken a lot of time putting together the piece of research he was now reading, calling in favours from some of the best CIA analysts in the field. Biohazard and biowarfare no longer had, in his view, the reputation it might once have had. True, the large countries around the world – China, Russia, the US and some other European countries – had an interest in the matter.

  But he estimated that this was more to safeguard against an event than to initiate the release of a biological agent on foreign soil. The fear they were protecting against came from rogue states possessing and subsequently unleashing such an agent.

  It was the growing power of the pharmaceutical industry that concerned Jack . The boom of the biotech industry was also on his mind. It was complex and almost impossible to monitor all the discoveries small boutique firms were stumbling across … inadvertently or by design. Then they were only too keen to sell to the highest bidder.

  Ollie had just started working for a new biotech firm in London. His novice and perhaps still principled mind had been disturbed. Ollie had not liked what he had seen nor what he had been asked to do.

  Jack went back to his notes. Ollie had contacted Jack through the CIA website by first applying for a job. Jack had reluctantly listened to what Ollie Wilson had to say. There was always someone abroad who thought he’d come across another conspiracy or national security threat. Jack brought up the last email he had received from the young man.

  Must find a way to download latest findings. The next batch of research is crucial. What I’m working on is not what it seems.

  Ollie had previously sent Jack a long document. The thesis for the PhD he had received from Harvard Medical School. In many parts, it went over Jack’s head but he understood the thrust of it.

  Using AI, machine learning and genome technology to design pioneering drugs … from antibiotics to vaccines.

  The BIG Programme director at Harvard had been enthused by Ollie as a student, it seemed. Ollie’s ability to generate ground-breaking ideas had earned him the exciting job of Head of Research in the small tech company he had joined in London.

  Jack’s mobile rang aga in. He recognised the London Embassy’s number.

  “You’d better get to the office.” Jethro did not sound pleased. “There have been some further developments. I’d rather speak to you when you are back at HQ.”

  * * *
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  “At least the other flats have been spared.” Cora’s voice faltered. Her head had dropped against Nancy’s shoulder. They stayed there for a moment, contemplating the disaster, each engulfed by her own feelings. Nancy opened the door of the cab and stepped out.

  “We should wait for Pole’s protection officer to arrive.”

  Cora nodded, looking hesitant. Voices surprised the two women and they turned around. Three young people were moving in their direction from across the road.

  A young woman sporting long dark hair, braided with colourful extensions ran towards them, threw her arms around Cora and squeezed her tight.

  Cora hugged her neighbour back. It was good to feel the strength of someone else to share the burden.

  “That was horrible … really spooky.”

  “Were you in the flat?”

  Beth nodded. “Where is Ollie?”

  Cora wrapped her arms around herself, preserving the warmth she had been imparted.

  “Nat was supposed to come but cancelled at the last minute. Charlie was still at work and Johnny had just gone out for a takeaway …”

  The two men caught up with them and nodded at what Beth had just said, each of them giving Cora a heartfelt hug.

  “Any damage to your flat?”

  “Not much, just the smell and a bit of soot on the landing. Nothing compared with yours, my darling.” Johnny reached out to run a hand to rub Cora’s back.

  “How is Ollie taking it?”

  Cora’s face turned pale and she almost dropped to the ground.

  “Perhaps we should get on with what we came to do. Sorry to interrupt.” Nancy moved closer to Cora. The others took the hint, apologised for interrupting and disappeared through the entrance of their side of the building.

  “If you need anything, shout,” Beth threw over her shoulder before disappearing through the glass doors.