BLOOD DRAGON Page 8

  “Fine, I’ll keep you posted … and I’m expecting you to do the same for me.” Pole indicated that he was about to turn into a car park. “I’m just reaching Scotland Yard for a meeting with The Super.”

  “Is the counter terrorist squad still sniffing around then?”

  “What do you think? Crowne vanishing from Belmarsh prison is a very large blot on their reputation.”

  “The counter terrorist squad are an ungrateful lot …” Harris had returned to his devilish self. “They managed to eliminate an entire terrorist cell … right in the middle of London … before they could wreck complete havoc.”

  “They would have done that in any case, Harris. My team knew where they were and we would have got them regardless.” Pole stopped his car at the entrance to the car park. An armed officer came out of his surveillance booth and checked Pole’s ID, giving him a nod. The large steel bollards descended slowly into the ground, the iron gates opened noiselessly. Pole entered Scotland Yard’s secure car park.

  “But there was no damage done. I just needed a bit more time to infiltrate my assets into this new cell. That sort of work keeps me sleeping better at night.”

  “I’m glad I’m talking to you from a burner phone.” Pole grumbled. “You seem to forget about facilitating the escape of a high-profile city banker who had been an IRA operative for years.”

  “Minor detail, Inspector … You know it was for the greater good.”

  “Not sure Marsh or Ferguson would agree.”

  “Oh, The Super would agree if he had been involved … Marsh has a flair for drama and a good intrigue. I suppose he is pissed off he can’t involve Henry Crowne in one of your ultra high-profile cases any longer.”

  Pole stopped the engine without replying. Harris was right and there was no point arguing otherwise.

  “One last thing. Let’s not get everything mixed up. Might be a good idea to keep Ms Wu out of this one.” Harris stopped Pole before he could protest. “It’s going to be mighty difficult. But if matters involving MI6 or the CIA come to the fore, I’m not sure you want her involved.”

  “A threat … From which side?” Pole remained in the car to finish the conversation.

  “Not from me if that’s what you’re thinking mate.” Harris grew serious again, his faint East End accent now a little stronger.

  “Good to know.”

  “And when it comes to Marsh, keep me posted too. I don’t want him to come anywhere close to our mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  * * *

  Cora was safe surrounded by her friends and Pole had convinced Nancy that DS Branning would afford her more than adequate protection. Nancy had left the Rotunda restaurant on foot and Pole was making his way back to Scotland Yard. Pole had jumped in a cab to collect his car from the UCH car park. Marsh would be kept waiting but Pole, as ever, didn’t care.

  Nancy turned into the small backstreets of Islington, not all of which had benefited from the recent transformation that had changed the area from a mix of arty, showbiz and middle class dwellings, to more upmarket contemporary apartments for the wealthy.

  The few estates that remained looked sad and untended in comparison to the now up and coming Islington. Nancy cut through an old estate to the market she enjoyed browsing through at the end of each month and crossed into Camden Passage. She found herself walking through a mixed crowd of young people chatting on their iPhones, at the top of their voices. They looked about Cora’s age. The deep blue colour of a young girl’s hair contrasted with the golden yellow of a long fleece. Her nose piercings bobbed up and down as she talked animatedly into her pair of headphone. Her friend was holding out her own phone, looking for directions … Perhaps trying to locate an undisclosed location for the private view of an art or fashion show.

  Nancy arrived at her destination less than 10 minutes later. Philippe was waiting for her. He looked pleased to see her but perhaps a little more stressed than usual.

  “How lovely to see you …” Philippe placed a quick peck on Nancy’s cheek. She smiled in return. “You do have a moment I hope?”

  “Absolutely …” Philippe moved to the back of the long room used as the Gallery space. The office area at the back was neat and tidy. He offered Nancy a cup of tea which she accepted and they both settled onto the old leather couch that occupied the far wall.

  “How is Cora?” Philippe drank a little tea forgetting it was still very hot and grimaced.

  “She’s doing fine in the circumstances … Her young friends have rallied around her.”

  Philippe nodded. He took off his round, frameless spectacles and breathed onto the lenses. He started to clean them methodically with a cloth he always kept in one of his trouser pockets.

  “Did you ever speak to Ollie … I mean at length?” Nancy sipped her tea with half closed eyes. Philippe always kept an excellent Darjeeling for his best clients and Nancy was glad she counted as one of them.

  “Not really … I don’t think I ever met him on his own. He was always with Cora and if we spoke it was always about her shows.”

  “I realise I didn’t know Ollie that well either. Not in the way I know Cora, at least.”

  “I think he was happy to be the artist’s other half.” Philippe used his fingers to underline the word artist with air quotes.

  “And yet he seemed to know a lot about art … And was happy to engage …” Nancy had almost finished her cup. Philippe stood up to get the teapot from the kitchen, refilling Nancy’s cup. He rested it on the ground.

  “It’s so very upsetting. Cora has had a fair share of heartache …” Philippe stiffened a little.

  “Don’t worry Philippe … My own loss was a long time ago.” Nancy smiled kindly. No need to make him feel uneasy even though she had rediscovered how raw the memories still were.

  “How much has she told you about her parents’ disappearance?”

  Nancy leaned back against the side of the sofa. She brought her legs underneath her, having dropped her shoes to the floor. “Tell me.”

  He told her what he knew.

  That Cora’s parents, her father a lawyer and her mother a journalist, had gone to visit relatives in Guangzhou, in Southern China. And that they had never been seen again. The car had been found at the side of the road with their travel bags still in it, but their other personal effects had vanished. The police were called. They searched the area. They issued a missing persons notice …

  And then nothing.

  It was now about eight years ago.

  “Her parents were activists if I recall correctly.” Nancy frowned.

  “They were. She hardly ever mentions that – as though she does not want to draw attention to it.” Philippe shook his head. “That’s not quite what I meant … I’m sorry. Their activism is the only explanation for their disappearance, and she doesn’t like discussing it.”

  “Their disappearance happened a couple of years after one of the most well attended demonstrations in Hong Kong.” Nancy laid her cup on the floor and returned to her comfortable position. “A reaction against the Hong Kong government passing an anti-subversion law that might have restricted freedom of speech.”

  “You know more than I do about that, Nancy. But I’m pretty certain Cora mentioned her parents were involved.”

  “I can believe that … There is a strong political stance in whatever she creates.”

  “And it has registered with a lot of collectors. She is on the rise.” Philippe smiled. His round, amicable face lost all signs of concern for a moment.

  “A well-deserved success. I’m glad it is happening so early in her career.”

  “Do you think Cora’s past life had an impact on Ollie’s …” Philippe was looking for the word.

  “I’m not sure … I’m simply making sure that I don’t overlook anything that could be significant.”

  “At
least now you know everything I know.”

  “The worst thing for me is not knowing what happened … the lack of closure. That must be even more so in Cora’s case. She could have expected an investigation. But no bodies were found, which means no murder inquiry, no investigation, no difficult questions asked.”

  “A good thing Cora was not with them.”

  “That’s a good point Philippe … Perhaps that was not a coincidence.”

  “You mean they felt threatened?”

  “I’m sure they knew they had been identified as troublemakers … But perhaps they felt they had to take the risk of going to mainland China for some other reason.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something they needed to do or someone they needed to meet.” Nancy moved from her comfortable position on the sofa. Her body was now leaning forward, as the conversation with Philippe became more urgent.

  “I wish I could do more.” Philippe sighed.

  “You’re doing plenty and so is Amy.”

  Philippe sprang out of his chair, keen to dispel the dark atmosphere that had gathered in the room.

  “Talking of which … Amy has discovered a rare article entitled Contemporary Art in China under Deng Xiao Ping.”

  “How clever of her. And so kind to spend time looking for something that may help me with my own search.”

  “You will be very interested in that article I think. It mentions the one name you’ve been looking for.”

  Mo Cho … The artist name her father used.

  * * *

  “What’s the mood like?” Pole straightened his tie and ran his long hand through his hair.

  “What do you expect? He hasn’t had a high-profile case to boast about since last year.” Marsh’s PA rolled her eyes and gave Pole a grin.

  “It’s only February.”

  “And the head of the counter terrorist squad paid him a visit yesterday evening.”

  “Ouch …” Pole inhaled and shook himself like a boxer entering the ring.

  “Exactly.” Denise picked up the phone and called Marsh. He responded through the loudspeaker. Pole could hear his voice through Denise’s receiver … Get Pole in.

  “In you go then … Ready for a punch-up.”

  “Un homme averti en vaux deux.”

  “Whatever.” She nodded towards The Super’s door. Pole entered without knocking.

  Marsh as always was in full uniform. He had left the safety of the seat behind his desk from which he liked both to terrorise or charm his visitors. A golf club in his hand, Marsh was practising with a series of balls which had gathered around his feet.

  “The next tournament is in two weeks. I’m damned if I’ll let the boys from the rapid response tactical squad win this time around.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t be of very much help in that respect, Sir.”

  Marsh stood up from his putting position, swinging his golf club as he walked back to his desk.

  “Not to worry … You may be of help in another matter that has been bothering me for a while.”

  Pole nodded and came to sit in one of the chairs that stood in front of his boss’s desk.

  “The head of the counter terrorist squad and I have made progress on the leak that occurred last year … I’m sure you recall the event.”

  How could Pole have forgotten?

  A new terror cell in London had targeted a number of people … including one of Nancy’s friends. MI6 had managed to delay storming the building where the group had gathered, to save two of its operatives … an intense few days.

  “I do, Sir.” Pole’s face remained expressionless.

  “Commander Ferguson, whom you know very well, has come up with a plausible theory.”

  Pole pulled back a little, focused on hiding the somersault in his gut.

  “Ferguson doesn’t buy the argument that MI6 managed to find out the CT squad plans to storm the terrorist cell from external sources.”

  “Does he believe it was an insider job then?” Pole excelled slowly his question.

  “That’s the sum of it … And he is also proposing to find out in a rather proactive manner. I didn’t like the idea to start with, but it has some merits.”

  Marsh had rolled his leather armchair forward, his prominent belly almost touching the desk.

  “Ferguson is a determined and skilful officer.” Pole knew what was coming next. Ferguson would investigate the communication trail within his team and ask Pole to do the same.

  A lethal tactic.

  The Super confirmed Pole’s fears. He had agreed on an unofficial inquiry, to be carried out as discreetly as possible. Marsh had not consulted him. Ferguson, whom he had known a long time, had not communicated with Pole either. He was preparing himself to run a thorough review of what had gone wrong and friendship would not be allowed to get in the way of it.

  Marsh continued talking about how beneficial the exercise would be, but Pole was no longer listening.

  Pole stands outside a large vehicle that has been stationed a street away from the target they are about to storm. Steve Harris is showing a couple of pictures to members of Ferguson’s SO19 team.

  “These are my agents – do not engage.” He repeats the same sentence like a mantra to each officer. They nod and when he has finished with them, they roll down their balaclavas and adjust their night vision goggles. Ferguson is the last to take a look and signals to his men they are ready with a quick rolling gesture of the hand.

  Pole has not been shown the pictures, but he knows who one of the men is. Henry Crowne, high profile city banker, IRA operative, now inmate at the high security unit of HMP Belmarsh. But Henry is also a friend of Nancy’s and the reason why Pole met her in the first place.

  Ferguson enters the mobile control room. Properties have been evacuated around the target. He is pressing Control for quicker results. The element of surprise is key.

  The young woman in charge of OPS turns around abruptly. “We’re all clear.” Ferguson nods. “Roger that … Going dark in one minute.” He moves past Pole.

  “OK lads … Let’s go.” His men are already taking positions around the small property.

  “I hope they don’t screw this up.” Harris is nervous and has reason to be. The terrorist cell Ferguson is about to tackle won’t care about their own lives and there will be no surrender.

  Pole hears the young woman again. “We are clear to breach.”

  The lights go dark everywhere in the street.

  Marsh stopped talking and Pole didn’t know whether he was supposed to agree with something.

  “I’ll speak to commander Ferguson and agree a way forward.” Pole needed to make a quick exit.

  “Do remember what I said …”

  “I’ll inform you at each step of the way.” An educated guess that proved to be right, Marsh forever wary of Pole’s ability to make the right decisions without consulting him.

  Pole left the room and stood for a moment outside the office after closing the door.

  “That bad?” Denise had stopped typing and gave Pole a concerned look.

  “Perhaps a little unexpected.” He managed to smile and bid Denise goodbye.

  A few moments later he was back in his office and looked around the room, in its usual state of chaos.

  It would be ironic if his involvement with MI6 were to herald the end of his career.

  * * *

  The reply had come within the hour. Jack had applied for a five-day holiday online. He had rehearsed his arguments for taking a last-minute break.

  Overworked and underpaid … his boss, John (Jack) Hunter III would reply that so was he.

  Needed to clear his head for the next operation … Might need a psych evaluation … Not a good idea.

  Spend time with family or friends … Do you have any the
re …? He was not about to mention Harris.

  Keeping friendly with Jethro, London Station Chief, a persuasive argument about team building, that would do.

  The phone never rang and the holiday was now confirmed. A hint of paranoia crept in. Was he no longer considered a worthy agent? He shook his head at the thought … He was in need of a holiday after all.

  Jack booked his airline ticket, open return to London departing from JFK at 8.15pm. He had indulged in a business class flight on British Airways.

  Hell, he was not on a mission, strapped in the back of a Chinook helicopter or in the hold of a large C-5M Super Galaxy that the US Air Force used to transport people and supplies. Comfort was not a word that registered in the dictionary of the CIA OPS.

  He bought his next ticket. One way to Boston, the return stop to New York.

  The flight departed in a little less than two hours from Ronald Reagan Washington airport. Just enough time to nip home, pack up his toothbrush, a few more bits that might come in handy … jeans, shirt, winter leather jacket.

  He decided against a weapon. Customs at Heathrow airport might kick up a fuss even with a valid licence. No need to attract attention. Above all he would take his second laptop, fully prepped already, as it always was for emergencies.

  His mind drifted to a document he had recently received. Another piece of research comparing America’s and China’s military capabilities. The paper had been prepared by the military adviser to Senator McCain. The Pentagon had reviewed the thick document, recognising its importance.

  At the CIA the paper had landed on his desk. He did have a reputation for fighting lost causes and extracting unexpected data from information no one else was prepared to consider. Jack checked the length of the piece again, a whopping 857 pages. He hesitated but sent it to his TO READ file nevertheless. He might get a chance to read it on the way back.

  Another email alert came through, this time bringing a smile on his face. The head of BIG at Harvard Medical School had time to meet him early that afternoon … And he sounded excited to be talking to Jack about one of his most promising students in bioinformatics … Ollie Wilson.